TREE DANCE - a story in 100 words

TREE  DANCE

When the Council declared the old tree was dangerous, the town mourned. Generations had swung from its branches and eaten picnics in its shade.

By popular vote, Hal was selected to carve the remaining trunk, and Running Bear supervised progress from his folding chair.

“Be careful what spirits you awaken, boy – trees have long memories.”

Hal laughed, but when he surveyed his work that evening, shapes had appeared that he didn’t recognize. Shivering, he hurried home.

In the morning there was a track in the grass, as if many feet had danced around the tree all night.

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I had to resist the temptation to write a story about my elder son, who is in the process of carving the trunk of a tree which was felled beside his house. We also have a tree-carving artist who has made woodland creatures to delight the children - and adults - out of felled trees around our village. So much better than reducing a grand old tree to firewood and wood-pulp.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to J S Brand for this week's photograph.

GARDEN VISIT WITH DAD

GARDEN VISIT WITH DAD

Jed Fisheagle’s expression was stony as Patty wheeled him round the gardens.

“I had hoped you’d appreciate the nature and fresh air, Dad.”

“Air’s alright – I can smell the pines from here – but nature? Huh! Those ain’t trees, all chopped about like that.”

“They’re pollarded, Dad.”

“Whatever, they ain’t natural. And water should be free, not walled in a pond full of fish a man can’t eat. Where’s that coffee you promised?”

As Patty turned his wheelchair towards the house, Jed swung his stick, toppling several stacks of stones. “Even their signposts are wrong – this ain’t the way to the reservation.”

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Another picture prompt from Friday Fictioneers - thanks to https://rochellewisoff.com/

and to Sandra Crook who took the photo. I like trees to be natural - trimmed is okay, but never pollarded to within an inch of their lives - to this story couldn't be written any other way. 

FIRST NATION - a 100 word story

Late on parade again!
I've been a tad busy with the bureaucratic aftermath of selling property in Spanish territory, and we also handed our car over to its new owners, said adios to several friends, and checked that our money had arrived safely in England

Today I had just finished writing this when my daughter suggested a walk along El Medano promenade and a lunch of sardines and pulpo. No contest - blogging could wait!

For those of you who don't already know, Rochelle runs thie weekly Flash Fiction Fest from her blog https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  If you follow the Blue Frog trail from there you can read scores of other writers' takes on theis week's photo prompt.
After you've read and commented on mine, of course!

FIRST NATION

The Jeep lurched and Monty fought it to a standstill.

“Flat tyre,” he said resignedly, “Everyone out – you kids find me a flat rock to support the jack.”

Beside the wide, empty road Josh tugged the perfect rock out of a pile and Amy gasped, “You can’t take that – it’s Indian magic.”

“Don’t talk rot,” he scoffed, but immediately after the wheel-change Amy made him put it back.

“Heap of fuss about nothing,” Josh grumbled as his sister delicately replaced the top stone, but then a sudden rush of wind spread a layer of blood-red maple leaves around their feet.