'Two Dozen Acorns' - Flash Fiction - Freewrite #10
“Are we planting Grandpa’s tree today?”
Tom’s mother smiled, smoothing his hair over with her free hand. It had a habit of sticking up at the most outrageous angles. Always rejecting her attempts to comb it straight.
“Yes dear, as soon as you’ve finished breakfast.”
The boy began shovelling spoonfuls of egg into his mouth.
“Slow down,” she laughed, “there’s time yet.”
“Jessica?”
It was Tom’s father, calling from the yard. His face appeared at the kitchen window, topped with a tweed cap, the morning sun brightening his otherwise wearied features. It was only seven o’clock, but he had already completed all his morning rounds. The cows would always require milking, the chickens feeding, the stables cleaning out. Farm life had its own uncompromising rhythm - no matter what needed burying, on a day like today.
His wife met him at the door and took him by the hand. He stared off towards a patch of nearby trees, saying nothing, and passed her a small pouch in the other. Tom strained to hear the few hushed words they spoke to one another but could make out none of them. His father turned, gave him a weak smile, then walked off in the direction he’d been looking.
“Da wants you to pick the seed,” said Jessica, returning to her chair at the table. Tom’s eyes lit up in excitement and she couldn’t help laughing again. “Make it a good one. A healthy one.”
Tom upended the pouch and around thirty acorns spilled out across the table. Together they picked through them, casting off those with loose caps, or drilled through with worm holes.
“This one,” said Tom, holding it in both hands like a tiny bird.
“Good choice. Will you go take it to Da?”
The boy looked confused. “What about Grandpa?”
“Oh, my sweet...” she said, smoothing his hair again. Her eyes flitted to the brown urn standing above the hearth. “We’ve got to say goodbye to Grandpa now.”
Tom said he understood, but she could see he didn’t really. She guided him toward the door and sent him running, acorn clenched in his pudgy fist, his body soon lost up to the chest in long grass. His father stood holding a spade, far off in the family wood. With a sigh she walked over to the hearth, and took down the urn.
with the prompt, "tree".
A tree beats a tombstone every time and forest a graveyard. A bittersweet tell, Lazarus. Well told.
Thank you friend :) I've always liked the idea of those bio-pods, for turning ashes into soil that feeds a tree. I think that kind of filtered through as I was writing this.
Hi Lazarus. The #fridaypoets challenge is up on my blog. Stop on in and see if you would like to participate:) Love to have you:)
Thanks for the invite Pryde, although I'm not planning on posting any poetry today :/ I'll be sure to check out everyone's entries regardless :)
Such a beautiful story - sad, but peaceful.
Cheers Marie, it warms me to hear you say so :)
Eh, children who had a chance to spend time with their grandparents are the lucky ones, they carry this "old-fashiosness" somewhere deep inside through their whole life.
Vividly described, as if I was there watching those people, haha, you know, this is my son and I:
The grandpa from your story is father's dad, who was so kind to mom that maybe he was even closer to her than her own father, who's probably far away... I picked it up from the two moments when she was enjoying her son, he surely helps her to live through the pain, those little details of her "not being able to help it, but laugh" show her inner pain and heightened senses at the moment.
The image of seeds here is the key, the key to seemed "injustice of life", why should we part ways with people we love?! Do we really part with them completely, or we're groing the "seed" they put inside of us into a mightiest of all the "trees". I don't know if it was intended, but you chose acorns, not something else, in Russia we call oak the king of all the trees, it goes with "mighty" as a birch goes with "slender" in Russian literature.
The final paragraph is so poetical!
I didn't feel sad when reading it, I felt peaceful, this short write made the time slow down for about five minutes (yes, I'm a slow reader)
Thank you for the many and varied kind words :) I definitely did imagine the grandpa as the father's dad, though it's interesting what you picked up about the mother - I hadn't thought of it at the time but it does make sense, especially towards the end. Definitely trying to mask her pain, in an attempt to spare the family... Valuable analysis as always!
The oak is indeed such a grand tree, and I guess culturally in the UK it is most associated with 'heritage' and 'tradition'. So great to hear the Russian perspective - the king of trees! Certainly puts a new slant on the whole thing :)
Very powerful story. Really brought a lump to the throat while reading at the end. The cycle of life, and all it entails. Thanks for a great, well-written creation. I'm guessing there might be a bit of non-fiction in there somewhere as well. Then again, may just be where I am at this time today in life. Have a great day.