Manfa ~ Old Maple
Every year, it’s the same thing. OUCH! The bird with the long beak gives me the needle. I don’t wake up slow and lazy the way I want to, but big and ouchy from that dang flicka drilling on me. It’s not tickling my roots awake, it’s stabbing my veins.
My name is Manfa. I am a big maple tree. I’ve been swaying here for about 100 sleeps. I felt the sun longer on my bark. I felt the winds shift too. The river has been happy and clear flowing by.
I was starting to rise by myself when I was pinged back today. So, I forgot what I was dreaming about too. It was a good one and it’s gone.
I’ll tune in and start to listen for the cackle I love it when the red wing blackbirds arrive. Oh, they make a ruckus and swam my branches.
I see the squirrels moved over to the oak tree this winter. What fun could there be in that one? So stiff and straight. So stingy holding onto it’s leaves still!
I live for the strong winds. I love to feel sister wind push me this way and that. I love when I swing my limbs almost to the ground and bounce back up. Sometimes branches come crashing down but I don’t mind.
Oh that flicka, pecks at my bark and leaves nothing behind but an ouch.
- Posted in: Short Story Fiction