There was a deep suspicion of what the notices would say; a big red flyer tacked to the tree across the street. But I put off finding reason to go read it, knowing that at least with no photo showing it was not a missing child or something else that should break somebody’s heart.
At last I wandered over, after picking up my mail and read the bold black words that government could only print. An order of execution, the prisoner wearing it around his neck as if a scarlet letter, damned to more finality, damned to sawdust within five days.
This stately maple in my neighbor’s yard is one of two left standing, when it’s wayward brothers have since been severed from the earth. Six or seven, maybe more in all, taking up a growing space over time in a hundred years or more, now gone and leaving empty space behind.
When we moved in over fourteen years ago, we were embarrassed by the size of our little five all in a row. Now they tower, lift up in pride, no longer the new kids on the block, but then again, nor are we.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
choking down that sawdust is enough to take your breath away
I loved it that you said “nor are we”
that left a great visual; one with hope
You always seem to find a meaning in my words that is uplifting that I myself don’t realize is there. Love the way you interpret what I say–it in turn gives me insight and hope that I probably am hiding from myself when I think I’m in a dark and bitter mood. Thank you!