You can tart it up however you like.
That tree’s still not what it was destined to be. Still cut down… stunted… dead.
Who’s to say how beautiful it might have been, how high it might have soared, branches reaching for the sky, dispensing shelter, shade and solace to others?
So this week, while you’re busy exercising your rights, celebrating options, railing at perceived injustices, reflect a while on those who didn’t get to do that… or to be that tree.
All those ribbons, medals, poppies, beacons, ceremonies…
You can tart it up however much you like.
I’m still dead.
Not really a story in the true sense of the word this week, but it is someone’s story. Not everyone went off to war in a blaze of patriotic fervour. The more years I put behind me, the more aware I am of the years sacrificed by people so much younger than I. Thanks to Rochelle for leading the Friday Fictioneers out yet again.