Over the years, I had grown from a tiny shrub into a tall bay tree, glossy and proud. I was home to various families of small birds, which fed on my berries, kept me company and amused me with their chattering and flittering in and out of my branches.
Then came axe and saw, and empty nests and amputated limbs landed in dust and brittle leaf litter. I trembled at the sound of the garden shredder.
That was two years ago. My branches no longer caress the gutter and there is no friendly creak in boisterous winds. But I stand strong, Birds have returned to perch among my glossy leaves, while I continue to exhale my noble pepper aroma.
Kim M. Russell, 2nd June 2019
For today’s prompt, Magaly invites us to write new short stories, essays or articles (in 313 words or fewer), from the point of view of a tree. The secondary option is to take one of our old poems and turn it into a new short story (in 313 words or fewer).
I chose to re-write an old poem from October 2017 about our bay tree, which we reluctantly pollarded due to damage it was causing to our house. Some years ago, I wrote a story about the bay tree, which you can find here.