Storytelling Tree

I took a hike across a stream into the arms of the storytelling tree. Carved out as if a royal chair it beckoned. I sat beneath, listening to the wind blow and the slow approach of wild life. Proud and still, I knew she had a story to tell but her lips were sealed.

20150613_134349_resizedAfter awhile I could feel her arms around me and soft whisper.

20150613_134354_resizedI, yet a prisoner, held safely but distant. I knew to listen not turn to see as the storytelling tree spoke to me.

It spoke of a lovely spring day, the sent of flowers and pine in the air and a soft reminder of coyotes near. A young woman approached. Here, beneath the tree she spread out a linen hand embroidered on the edges with magnificent brightly colored flowers in the center. The air was crisp as the breeze stilled. Slowly with great deliberation she set out crystal goblets for wine, silver forks and china so delicate one could see through to the other side. In a basket fragrant wine, ripe cheese and bread still warm from the oven. The olives were tart and danced on the tongue, the chocolate dark and rich.

Smoothing the folds of her dress she sat waiting in calm stillness. The sun grew high only to later lower itself in the sky melting into the earth. Darkness cloaked the tree while the morning moon grew faint and pale. Dawns light danced off the glass causing the forks to sparkle. Whence the sun rose once again the table lay untouched except for a small pile of dust with a broken diamond hidden among the ash.


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