Covert Novelist

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Rose brought a tray of lemonade out to the elderly woman sitting in the rocking chair.  she hadn’t heard Rose’s approach, but it didn’t matter, her thoughts were obviously a million miles away in another time and another place.

Rose touched her hand and Mrs. Addison’s glance turned toward her the undefined look diminishing from her eyes.  “Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Addison, my pleasure.”

“Now where were we?”  Mrs. Addison asked

“You were explaining the oak trees.”

“Ah yes, we had such zip, such pizzazz, nothing held us back.  Papa had planted the trees when I was seven or eight. I couldn’t wait to see them grow.  I’m pleased they are still here.  Such memories associated with those trees.”  Her sigh contained pleasure.

Longingly she looks back

Memories scents of lilac

Papa planting the old oak trees

She was at his side on bent knees

Oh how they would zip and run

A game of tag they’d just begun

Her first kiss under that oak

So discreet they thought to cloak

Their rendezvous camouflaged

Until papa showed up sabotaged

By her mean little sister full of tales

Following her down all the trails

Eagerly waiting to catch her slip

Holding onto bargaining chips

Indeed the tales, if trees could talk

About the lives and paths, they’d walked






  1. stbarbebaker says:

    Very cool story great reminiscence


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