The tree

The tree stood in an old flowerpot wrapped in red tissue. Tina sprayed it with bleach against allergens then with hairspray to stop needledrop. She wrapped it with tinsel and wove lights around the branches. Finally the crowning glory: the fairy from the shoebox was placed ceremoniously on top. A minute later she sneezed, opened her eyes, shook her head and flew out of the window. Tina stared, open-mouthed. In the kitchen Rocky was barking.

First published on 22 December 2015

Night storm. Tree falls.

Night storm. Tree falls. In the morning swingball stands disdainful, tosses its haughty mane. Of a single dog-chewed tennis ball on a frayed fluorescent nylon string. Tree stays down. Lies with lime-green plastic bats on the grass-green grass. Vanquished. Drums its twigs on the neighbour’s fence. Fence tilts but doesn’t fall. Tree sighs and settles. Waits.

Based on original observation by @johnhiggs