Tag Archives: prose

Pruning Trees

This has been on my mind for a while now, since I saw the tree outside my apartment undergo some major pruning. I had felt sad, but I guess there’s more to rejoice.

“What’s going on?” I cried, rushing out into the garden.

He had a ladder against a tree and was at the topmost rung, perched and holding a saw, gazing up into the leafy arms. On the ground lay several piles of leaf-sprouting branches.

He saw me standing arms akimbo below and waved down at me, yelling, “I’m pruning the trees!”

“But why? They looked so beautiful with their crowns of green,” I pouted. “Now they look all ugly and bare!” I looked at the stumps of nothing against the bright blue skies and felt upset all over again.

“I feel like the trees have wasted all their efforts growing themselves out.”

“Yeah I know; they were glorious weren’t they?”

He came down from the ladder and stood beside me, looking up at the stumps too. “But pruning has way more benefits that outweigh this temporary ugliness.”

“Well yeah… I suppose…”

He glanced over at me sulking and laughed.

“Well, pruning helps to remove deadwood that hampers trees from growing to their best potential, and also helps to shape them and redirect their growth.”

He leaned the saw gently against the tree, then continued, gazing kindly at me.

“When they grow better, and in the right directions, they become healthier. At the same time, risks from falling branches are reduced while yield or quality of flowers and fruits are increased.”

“Yeah… I suppose you are right,” I replied grudgingly.

“That’s what you can look forward to. But it will take some time.” He patted me on the shoulder and winked. “But I assure you, it will be a magnificent sight to behold.”

And so I wait, for that magnificence to unfold.

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Conversing Birds

I flopped into the couch and sighed loudly. He looked up, amused. I sighed again and pouted.

“It’s so difficult being real.”

“Why is that?”

“There’s so much hatred and self-centeredness out there. There’s just no point. No one cares anymore.”

He closed the book.

“What do you propose to do then?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe I’ll just not go out that much anymore. It’s all so tiring.”

“Listen. What do you hear right now, outside the window?”

If there were such a thing as squinting my ears, that was what I did right then.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Listen carefully.”

It was then that I heard it. The quiet chirping of a bird. But it was so soft that I would not have noticed it.

“It’s a bird chirping.”

“That’s right. Now, listen again and tell me what you hear.”

This time, I was getting the hang of this little exercise.

“Ah, there’s another bird. No, wait actually there’re two more.”

The birds were sounding pretty lovely actually, sort of like they were having an animated conversation.

“You see, the first little bird was just chirping the way he knows how to. The way he should. That is his nature.”

“And at first, he was just chirping by himself. But then, you heard another one responding to him. And there was a third. And it all started sounding pretty amazing. It became a beautiful three-voice song.”

He looked at me, smiling.

“But here’s the thing. No one could hear him at first. And even when he could be heard, not everyone likes his song.”

“Still, he continued singing that melody, not changing it or replicating another bird’s tune, because that’s what he was made to sing.”

“He’s just being himself. He’s being real.”

“And look what happened: other birds came. They understood what he was singing and responded to him, and now they’re having a mighty fine session.”

“I think I know what you’re saying…”

He gave me a wink before reopening the book.

“You do.”

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The Bachata – Part One

Something I promised a friend; part one first while the rest writes itself, in due time. 😉

Dimly lit and cosy, the interior of the bar contrasted sharply with the summer sidewalks and idyllic outdoors.

She made her way casually, yet not undeliberately down the hallway. The men glanced up and stared; they always do. But she was not distracted.

And there he was.

Tailored blue jacket thrown over white linen shirt and fitted blue jeans, accompanied by the usual glass of red and an air of relaxed elegance, at the far table beside the curtained windows.

She turned and walked in his direction, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth as he looked up that instance and saw her. He smiled, then got up as she arrived at the table.

“It’s been a while.”

“Indeed; how have you been?”

“Well, life goes on.”

“Like a bachata.”

“Yes, we dance – sad words to beautiful melodies – and that makes life more bearable.”

A smile in his eyes, and she could not help smiling back. Linking her arm in his, they walked down together to the dance floor.

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Coffee, Tea Or

We walked back to the car, him armed with provisions from the convenience store, me with two bottles of iced coffee.

We opened the car doors and scrambled in; it was freezing.

He took a swig from his bottle of iced tea, then turned and offered it to me.

“Want some?”

“Nah weather’s too cold. I need hot tea.”

“Alrighty,” he said.

He took another swig, keeping the fluid in his mouth this time. Suddenly, he swiftly turned and leaned towards me while I gasped and pushed him away, him laughing at my glare.

Ignoring him I opened my bottle, then tilted it at my mouth and felt the cold brew gushing down my throat. Much needed fuel for the caffeine addict.

“Do you want some?” I offered.

“Sure, but I want it hot,” he grinned.

“How hot do you want it?”

“As hot as you.”

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Daily Prompt: Unfinished

There was a story I began
A pleasing imaginary prose
That it details parts of us
Was something I didn’t know;
So now I’m at the chapter
At which I’m uninspired
Will you not write it with me
Till the ending that does matter.

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The Writer Threw His Pen

A favourite quote woven in.

The writer threw his
Pen in wrath, self-defence;
It struck them in the
Hearts and thence war began

For the pen is mightier
Than any sword or knife
Scars and wounds heal better
Than words sublime.

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Word

Can one write a
Poem with a singular
Word;
Unmundane nor
Flamboyant
Balanced precarious
Upon its lines and curves
Yet not diminish
Its meaning?

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