This one inspired another Tricky tale! It just works perfectly for her. I hope to get to her full stories soon. I am certainly creating a catalogue of shorts at this stage. The last one was in March - Week148 - and it links through to all the others.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Startled
Oh yes, she could see why the oak wasn’t right, something had startled it; something that wasn’t of this world. And by the look, it had startled its life right out of it. It wasn’t normal for a tree’s energy to stay exposed like that – sticking out like iron filings along every branch. It was an end of life event. She hated seeing this, but it happened from time to time.
For Tricky it was an indicator that they had been nearby. This was on her route after all, and she knew they were link enough to find her dwelling. It didn’t matter how much she worked to shield it and keep it out of space and time, there were stronger forces in this world, and they weren’t going to let her rest. Not with what she knew and had in her possession, oh no.
She paused in front of the great oak and summoned the energy of those nearby to find out if there was any hope for it. It had been here a good couple of centuries and been a powerful supporter of hers time and time again. Maybe she could help heal it now.
The trees in the gully over the rise responded to her call on this dusky evening. She felt the air ripe with the glow of their effervescence, and she was joyful to see a dark green glow start spinning round the massive trunk of the oak. It meant there was still life within.
She sent her call out further, spinning a gold lattice that would call the great ash from the forest over to the right. They responded in turn, and the sky filled with an orange glow that was the highest energy that could be mustered. Silver threads wrapped round every bough and twig, soothing and purifying as they went.
Tricky thought her heart might burst with the joy it brought her to see nature come to the rescue of one of its own. The air pulsed with energy, and she could feel age falling off her: her bones becoming less achy, her skin tightening and a surge of energy running through all her muscles. It was a gift from the trees, and one they bestowed on her as their caretaker. She was humbled.
But once the healing had finished and the oak restored to its former glory, her mind turned to the cause; the dark energy that wrought such a shock on a tree such as this, one in its prime. She continued on her journey with trepidation now, knowing that every bird could be a spy and be informing on her every move. But she also needed to make haste, because if they had found her cabin and entered it, it might be all over for her – at least for this lifetime.
Tree, Terry Brewer @stories2121 329 words
ReplyDelete‘Tis something of a miracle, this tree. Some say it was the site of many a hanging in the old days, but I don’t believe that. No. I do know ‘tis the site of many a wedding and more than a few pre-wedding liaisons. The ones where the participants want to be sure that, yeah, all the parts are where they’re supposed to be and that they be in working order. Though I have only the minimal personal knowledge of that particular use of the shelter of its branches.
Aye. More likely where a life begins than where one ends.
I like to think it has been something of a guardian angel and a recorder of the life and the trials of the village. It is the first thing one sees when approaching home and the last one sees when leaving. Each season different.
Almost alive in winter, when you can see its tendrils reaching and reaching in all different directions, moving at times in the north winds that come down from Somerset, the low sun reflecting off its iced arms. Almost a child’s toy in summer, its broad leaves lightly swaying with those north winds and offering shelter on windless ones from the high sun.
I know there are those who love trees along lakes and streams, that droop down ominously. Aye, there be some of them not so far from here. But that is it. They are not here. No. This is the tree, the guardian angel. Too strong to be felled by the howls of spring with their cascading rains. Oh, yes, a branch may be sacrificed now and then to the weather gods. But always it stands, never surrendering. Always a sentinel or guardian to those who approach. It is a tree. A simple old, broad tree. But ‘tis our tree.
Perhaps a bandit hung from her. That wouldn’t be so bad. A thief in the night. A murderer. No, that wouldn’t be so bad.
Some nice imaginary in this tales. Thanks for joining.
DeleteTrying to find something in the chaos. Anything, in the chaos.
ReplyDeleteThe Old Tree
That's a truth bomb right there. I feel bad about all the growing things we hack down.
Delete