The tree surgeon inspects the trunk. He points to the outgrowths: troublesome. If he prunes it, he says, it’ll be just as tall in two years. Staring across the river to the fields beyond, my heart rate kicks up. I’ve lived with these branches for a quarter of my life. I’ve written beneath them, embraced the sunset through them, buried a beloved cat below them, watched the birds feed on them; golden moments gone with the buzz of a chainsaw. Hope blossoms in an earthenware pot. Plant now, and in another forty years we could be reunited. Worth a shot.
A writer of long and short fiction, plus poetry, MJ Christie has had 100-word drabbles, flash pieces, and two poems published in online magazines. Find MJ online at www.mjchristie.com and on Twitter @M_J_Christie.