Love
Gretel's Orchard
Sitting in her mother’s chair, a weathered, red Adirondack, Violet closes her eyes. A warm gust of wind blows across her face, stirring up the dry earth beneath the pear tree and tickling the bronze elephant windchime hanging above her head. The chimes remind her of her childhood and her little sister, Zinnia, long since passed. She stands and rakes her fingers through her bobbed, silver-blonde hair, pulling the stray strands away from her face.
By Sherri Rolfs4 years ago in Fiction
Two Souls Diverge in a Wood, Underneath a Pear Tree
I walked right past him; YES, it was him, I’m sure. My heart started racing, can’t catch my breath, I could hardly stand, legs weak; why am I shaking so violently? Calm down; you always get like this. I turn to see if he looks back, staring at his beautiful backside, long mid-length charcoal gray coat, faded slim-fit jeans, dark olive suede shoes, wavy black hair with a beautiful shimmer of light dancing through it. He walks with such pristine confidence; oh my, that’s so attractive!
By Kimberly Paulus4 years ago in Fiction
The Perfect Pair
When I think back to my childhood, I think of a big yellow sun, and a warm breeze pushing my hair back as I run across a field in Provence. My family is from France, and my younger brother and I would go travel with our parents to visit our grandparents every summer. After a few summers, my parents invited our neighbors, The Connors, to travel with us.
By Alexandra Scoville4 years ago in Fiction
Meet me at the tree
She sat under her favorite pear tree watching the sunset. The world looked so peaceful that she never thought that the world could be anything but. But as she watched the sun go down, she wondered what she was going to do. She never thought she would be in this situation. She had always told what she was told, followed her families rules. The thought of breaking it never came into her mind. But here she was, in a situation that left her unsure and confused. There he was, coming up over the hill, the sun setting behind him. Him looking like a dream.
By Talara Nolan4 years ago in Fiction
Not Really Dead
The sky is dark, the rain is coming down with fury while thunder is making loud booming sounds throughout the sky and the lightening is cracking through the black clouds. What a sad day all around. The weather brings an extra depression to the funeral. The glum that can’t seem to go away at all. There is no laughter in the air, no slight smiles. It was as if Jeff’s life was a boring and he didn’t live an exciting, intriguing life, but he did, didn’t he?
By Ireland Lorelei 4 years ago in Fiction
Ceremony
With each stroke of the mallet against the chisel, she could feel his movement, see the motion, hear the sounds of wood becoming. She could feel his movement when he went into the dark forest to get the rich dark wood. She remembered how he would walk the woods, and talk to the trees. How he would sit on the ground How once he found a stand he liked and just look at each of the trees. Eventually, he would talk to each tree and listen to their stories. She would watch him place his hands on each tree as the conversation went on and on, tree by tree until he finally had talked with each of them. He’d finally found the tree, a tree just right. And then he would sing to the tree, a song of gratitude, filled with sadness. Then he would pull away from the tree, still singing and calling it by name. He pull out the saw and the axe, and begin cutting down this one tree so that he had wood to work. This tree was special as was what it would create.
By William Rosenberg5 years ago in Fiction
