...The Son, the Father, and the Tree...

The Son, the Father, and the Tree

Page 2 of 3

     Wings fluttered in the semi-darkness. The boy could see the shapes of the small things, now, and knew he had to act. His arms stretched wide. He used the tree, he used the branch, he used every hold he could touch to ascend the arms of the tree.

     Each outline of fruit hanging on its branch also hung heavy in the air. The boy's mouth watered as his free hand cupped the dense fruit at his eye level. The fruit was perfect, oval and firm. His father would be proud of him. A few good rips and twists freed the fruit. The boy stared at its bumpy green skin as it sat on his palm, holding treasures inside.

     The sound of wings battered his ears on the left and the right. He stuffed the fruit into his bag. The boy reached for the next closest fruit and felt feathers instead. At the sharp sensation he drew back and felt the wetness on his fingers. He put his hand to his mouth to suck the stinging out.

     The tree sounded alive with all the creatures moving, eating, and breathing. The boy stopped and listened, awestruck; he had never heard so many animals in such frenzied action. He leaped and gripped a branch for balance when he heard his father shout again.

     "I am all right, Father," the boy said.

     "Good," the father called. "Do you have the fruit?"

     The weight of the single fruit rested against his upper leg. The boy scanned the tree for any fruit the ravens had not injured. He spotted a small lump far above, peering from a leaner branch.

     "Yes, Father," the boy said.

     The father spoke, but the boy did not hear his father as he wiped his fingers on the bag and ascended the branches.

     He reached the higher branches. The fruit he had spied was a small one, but it was unblemished, even perfect.

     The boy braced his weaker foot against two split branches. He stretched to his full height and could still barely reach the fruit.

      A pair of wings swept by the boy. "Shoo! Shoo!" the boy cried, batting away the raven.

     The raven landed on a twig above the fruit. The bird cocked his head as, with one eye, he looked down at the green, blemish-free skin.

     "No you don't," said the boy. "Shoo!"

     The bird bent down. When he rose again, a hole in the ripe  green flesh had opened. The valuable mash inside began to press together and run out.

     "Dumb bird. Thief!" the boy said. He raised his fists to shake them at the bird; but the bird took flight over the boy's head.  For a moment the boy flailed all around for hold of something more than air. His hand gripped something, but the thing tore away and boy started falling.

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