Ancient – older than time itself – the tree stood sentinel. Long after rune stones fell and history left men’s minds, the tree still remembered. Held in it’s roots and branches all transpiring. Recording each birth and death; keeping tight all joys and sorrows.
Watching Awakening and Wintering reshape the landscape. Viewing starscape wheeling above; marking dawn’s orange fingers snatch night; twilit moon subdue faded sun.
Placed as guardian by the those before the Ancients, it waited. Waiting for someone to return and lovingly tend it. Waiting to re-bud, re-leaf and bloom. Waited these eons, always in hope.
flash fiction for aspiring writers #109; photo by yarnspinner
April 5, 2017 at 3:37 pm
Lovely, loved the tree as a sentinel
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April 6, 2017 at 11:57 am
Thank you! The tree stood out in that wonderfully eerie, primordial image.
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April 5, 2017 at 2:28 pm
But will the Ancients return or have they long since perished?
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April 6, 2017 at 11:57 am
Excellent question! The tree may yet wait in vain. . .
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April 5, 2017 at 12:42 pm
Wow – fascinating and powerful image – and equally great piece of writing Lorraine. :)
Tight and carefully worded, it adds a mystical quality complimenting the photo.
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April 5, 2017 at 10:07 am
Lovely story! The photo is so grim and your story begins grim but ends with hope and I love that! Great story Lorraine!
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April 5, 2017 at 10:30 am
Thanks — the ending just came as I wrote the final line. Guess the optimist in me popped up! Quite the photograph.
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April 5, 2017 at 1:00 pm
LOL! The optimist in you came out good!
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