A Little Fear Is Necessary

377872-8If only a tree could observe love – but maybe they do!

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They sit quietly, leaning softly against my side, words failing to reach their lips.  The fire of my vibrant leaves casts blushes upon their skin, the sun streams her delicious light through gaps between my branches, lighting their eyes with summer sparkle.  Him with his bright blue pools, her with those dark olives.  How the sun reveals so much in the windows of children of flesh!  The longing he has for her, the feelings she hides from him, all now illuminated.  I see it all.

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At last, he speaks, hesitantly asks, if she even believes in love.  She turns her face away and replies, “I don’t know.”

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I love you.” he says almost in a whisper.

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Silence falls again between them.  The wind, perceives an awkward moment, fills the gap in their conversation with an excitable burst of breath.  It swirls over her face, lifts hair across her eyes, she hides a little more.  His ears fill with a blustery roar and the magnificent rustle of my leaves, he doesn’t hear her whisper, “Maybe – I do – love you.” The wind laughs as he steals her late reply.  And I say loud, “Be gone my mischievous friend, your merriment is enough!  Come back and tickle my leaves another day.  You’re making me sound angry, I am not, I’m intrigued.  Don’t cause me to frighten them away.”

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I have stood many years in this park, I’ve lost count of all the lovers who have leaned upon my smooth bark.  I am known by all who visit, as The Tree Of Love.  I see and hear their hearts.  Their flesh ones furiously beat, while the hearts of belief, long to be filled with more of what they desire.

They kiss often, other times they argue, some do neither.  Instead they visit me merely to waste time, spilling false words, telling each other lies, of what they choose to call – love.  I feel their words trying to force their way through me.  Sometimes they get the urge to make those fickle words become part of my body.  They carve letters into me, with cruel sharp pocket knives.  As if cut words will make it all real, a statement, love is a fact.  It is not!  Foolish souls!  I am too tough to be enticed by sugary phrases, and let it change who I am.  Eventually, their words pierce their own bodies, forcing them to bleed invisible poison.

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But these two – they need a helping hand.  It’s often like this, with a love that is right, it rarely goes well at the start.  Always one who loves, and the other denies the truth.  One who wants to take a chance, and one who runs in fear.  Clearly, these dear ones are made for each other.  And if I were a man, I would surely assist with the blooming of passion.  Wipe away their insecurities.  Heal them from what restricts love.  But I am not flesh.  I have no mouth, therefore I’m without a voice.  They will never hear what I have to say.

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How distressing, to see such fruitless attempts of human love, most of it ruined – by fear.  If only they knew, how much fear is their enemy.

Trees are never moved by fear.  What would be the point in us being afraid, when all we can do is stand rooted to the spot?  We have no use for running.  We just – are.  Everyday we take whatever comes to us – and allow it to be.  It’s the same for the fleshy souls, but they don’t believe it.  They never allow themselves stillness, to just be.   When fear approaches, they are spun in circles, causing great confusion on which way to turn.

Why can’t they agree to love each other, pour it out like water, and let love grow?  Their lives are painfully short.  Enjoy and delight, should be the only desires, before they wither and fall.  They don’t wish to consider the fall.

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The blue eyed man reaches for her hand, wrapping fingers tightly around hers.  She explains, “It’s complicated.”  And I wonder what she means.  What is complicated?  She’s building a prison, and not even aware of it.  The wind returns to me, his playful breath growing stronger.  Oh stop – you stormy rascal!  I can barely hold myself together!  Not now, not when there are visitors – this is embarrassing!  There’s creaking in my boughs, pain in my joints, sharp cracking.  Don’t – don’t – don’t do this to me – nooooo!!

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Oh dear, how shameful – a branch of mine has snapped and fallen!  Not just anywhere, but on the man with the blue pool eyes.  He lies frozen on the ground.  She cries bitterly, her tears raining over his body, calling his name, slapping his face.  He’s not responding.  Have I really killed a man?  Have I become a tree who can succeed in murder?

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Her voice, once quiet and sullen, now deafening, yells with extreme high pitch, “I love you – I’ve always loved you!  It’s my fault, I’m a mess, a terrible mess.  Don’t leave me – please come back!”

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The wind rushes away, laughing wildly as he flies.  Suddenly, all is still.  The man stirs – his blue pools blinking. “I love it when you shout.” he says.  Their lips mingle, he laughs, and she cries again in relief.

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So it seems, I’m not a murderer after all.  Perhaps this Copper Beech has more to learn about fleshy souls.  Maybe sometimes, a little fear is necessary?

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Picture: An Encounter at the Edge of the Forest – Anna Ewa

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6 thoughts on “A Little Fear Is Necessary

  1. I love your descriptions! Wonderful vivid story…I will have to read more,despite it only being 6.40am on a saturday!! Quiet time before my little one arises.
    You have a wonderful imagination x

    1. Thank you very much Marnie! 🙂 I’ve always had a bit of a runaway imagination, not quite so much today as when I was a child, it’s been tamed a little these days, but enough remains for a useful tool for writing! 😉

      6.40am?! You have an early start in order to get your quiet time! I really admire the Mum’s who have blogs, because I don’t know how they have time to fit it all in. I only have myself to worry about, and even I find there never seems enough time to do everything I want to do. I guess organization is the key, something I need to sharpen a little!

      Thanks again Marnie for taking time to read this, very much appreciated! 🙂

  2. Wonderful! I’ve written and indie published several books, and am working on a collection of fictional stories from a variety of writers dealing with fear from a variety of angles. It’s working title is “Fear’s Kaleidoscope”. Your story in this post would be a wonderful addition to this anthology. Please contact me at russtowne@yahoo.com if you’d like to learn more about this project.
    Thank you!
    Russ Towne

    1. I wrote this for a competition on Jottify back in December. I’d already been working on this as an idea a few months before – it wasn’t very good though. But the competition rules were, that the story had to be written from the point of view of the tree as the narrator. I’m not normally interested in entering competitions at all, but I thought that idea would help me write this how it should have been – it worked!

      Thanks for all your valuable feedback on the stories Chris, much appreciated! 🙂

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