Tale #93: A circle, whispering time

They built a calendar out of trees and flowers in the meadows around the town.

12 groves in a circle, a new colour blooming each month.

In January, the white of snowdrops
In February, the yellow of daffodils
In March, the green of grey willow
In April, the blue of wisteria
In May, the pink of cherry blossoms
In June, the red of poppies
In July, the honeyed yellow of catkins on sweet chestnut trees
In August, the purple velvet of tufted vetch
In September, the crimson of burnet
In October, the gold of autumn hawkbit
In November, the grey beards clinging to the branches of the clematis trees

Then December comes.

In the silence nothing grows,
but much is buried

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Notes:

1. Written on September 4, 2019
2. And reminiscent of this previous tale – The town, the forest, the past

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Tale #58: The Tree

In the mountains, a few days walk from here, there’s a valley, barely known to the world. It’s cut off by snow and ice for most of the year, and by the rushing meltwaters of its river for much of the rest.

But if you somehow find your way to it, there grows a tree in the clearing there, all crooked and cold and bare. It will listen to your whispers, take them into its heart, and turn, by some dark magic, your lies to truth, or your truth to lies.

Once you’ve said your piece you turn and walk away, back to the world that has changed around you. Only you remember how things were before. Only you remember when your newly borne truth was a lie, when your new lie was true.

Slowly you are driven mad.

While the trees roots grow ever deeper.

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Notes:

1. Written in October 2017

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The Tree

The tree was rotten, dying. Sometime in the autumn beetles had nested beneath the bark, and from there an infection had spread that poisoned the sap. It was only with the onset of the spring, when the leaves sprouted brown, and fell dead to the ground in the first wind, that we had any indication of a problem. Of course, by then, it was too late.

The same was true of our marriage, and I left soon after Easter.

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Notes:

1. Written on May 1st, 2019

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The Trees Were Staring At Me Again

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Notes:

1. Written on April 24th and 25th, 2019

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In The Tree

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Notes:

1. Written on January 30th, 2008
2. For some reason, the folder this is in is called “Only The Living”
3. And the pictures are called “living00x.png”
4. So maybe it should be called Only The Living
5. But I cannot remember why
6. If it was
7. So I gave it a new title
8. That is a masterpiece of mundanity

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