A one hundred words for Friday Fictioneers
You’re sheltering me from the spring rain again. I love sitting here.
In summer, you shade me from the sun. I picnic here don’t I?
As a kid, I climbed you. I fell once and broke my arm, remember?
My first love and I carved our initials in your bark. Look, it’s still there.
In autumn, you’ll roll out a golden carpet and in winter you’ll stand naked and proud you old show off!
But unlike me you’ll be reborn.
You were there for those before me; you’ll be there for those that follow.
But today it’s me you shelter.
OK, so it's a picture of a bush, not a tree. Let's call it artistic license!
Photo credit: Santoshwriter