The Trees
Just a little something I wrote as a homework assignment for a writing group.
Assignment: Write about a tree and describe your experience with it and your feelings for it. I combined different experiences into one tree.
THE TREES
The melting sun kissed the leafy branches as I looked up to its mossy structure. It towered over me strong and tilted slightly, like a father expecting me to jump into his arms. We had just finished dinner and as usual, I made my nightly climb to rest in the solace of the friendly oak, daylight still clinging to the leaves silhouetted in the evening sky.
Here I would ponder happiness, the meaning of life, boyfriends and God. It’s where I would sit with Suzi Paradise when I explained to her that she couldn’t say, “So?” to my parents because it was rude. It was also in these arms that Chelsea tried to explain how babies were made. It was this tree that heard every naïve conversation. “You just lay side by side. That’s it. You gotta baby!” She said knowingly.
And it would be this tree that would give me up to the earth as I plummeted with a smack, knocking the wind out of me. My brother would pick me up and run home with me. My protector.
The following year dad would build a tree house that rested comfortably in the mighty braches. I would listen from a nearby window as hushed whispers drifted on the wind and laughter rose and died in waves. My brother was having a friend sleep over. They were allowed to spend the night in the tree house. I was not. Jealousy clung to the walls of my stomach like acid.
Sometime later, when my grandfather died, Uncle Paul would wack the tree with a baseball bat again and again, his rage permanently disfiguring the trunk. I watched from my window and wanted to stop him, but the world was filled with so much sadness that needed to escape. I just buried my head in my arms and rocked back and forth until I fell asleep.
In the coming years that tree would stoop and sway like an old man paralyzed and forgetful, it’s leaves shedding early. I would return as a married woman standing at the base of that tree, stroking its rigid bark and playing back the years in my mind, a haunting and innocent time. Some of the branches had broken off, but the sad little tree house still remained a permanent fixture, yet also faded, like memories.
Assignment: Write about a tree and describe your experience with it and your feelings for it. I combined different experiences into one tree.
THE TREES
The melting sun kissed the leafy branches as I looked up to its mossy structure. It towered over me strong and tilted slightly, like a father expecting me to jump into his arms. We had just finished dinner and as usual, I made my nightly climb to rest in the solace of the friendly oak, daylight still clinging to the leaves silhouetted in the evening sky.
Here I would ponder happiness, the meaning of life, boyfriends and God. It’s where I would sit with Suzi Paradise when I explained to her that she couldn’t say, “So?” to my parents because it was rude. It was also in these arms that Chelsea tried to explain how babies were made. It was this tree that heard every naïve conversation. “You just lay side by side. That’s it. You gotta baby!” She said knowingly.
And it would be this tree that would give me up to the earth as I plummeted with a smack, knocking the wind out of me. My brother would pick me up and run home with me. My protector.
The following year dad would build a tree house that rested comfortably in the mighty braches. I would listen from a nearby window as hushed whispers drifted on the wind and laughter rose and died in waves. My brother was having a friend sleep over. They were allowed to spend the night in the tree house. I was not. Jealousy clung to the walls of my stomach like acid.
Sometime later, when my grandfather died, Uncle Paul would wack the tree with a baseball bat again and again, his rage permanently disfiguring the trunk. I watched from my window and wanted to stop him, but the world was filled with so much sadness that needed to escape. I just buried my head in my arms and rocked back and forth until I fell asleep.
In the coming years that tree would stoop and sway like an old man paralyzed and forgetful, it’s leaves shedding early. I would return as a married woman standing at the base of that tree, stroking its rigid bark and playing back the years in my mind, a haunting and innocent time. Some of the branches had broken off, but the sad little tree house still remained a permanent fixture, yet also faded, like memories.
posted by Samantha | 2:33 PM
2 Comments:
Well said... My hands can almost feel the bark of that tree just from your description.
By the way, your web site is marvelous! I'm forwarding it on to a "close friend" who is also trying her hand at writing. :)
Thanks for sharing... your post was wonderful!
Take care
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