Short Story

It Feels Better Under the Trees

The sweetest music I've ever heard
Was the music Mother made.

The crashing waves against the shore;
The rustle of green leaves over head.

She whistles with the wind,
Perched atop the highest peaks

And I fall asleep to her sweet melody.

I lay down on the oak beneath me and stare up through the branches of the tree. No one knows to look for me here. I am free. Free of burdening my family and the crushing weight of society. In Mother's Hand I only know my imagination. 

My eyes begin to drift, falling just like I was in the poem I was writing. The softest song lulling me into a slumber, but is quickly interrupted by the sound of chatter. Sitting up, I see two squirrels scamper up the limbs, trying to get out of reach. The sound of crumbling dried leaves comes next from the base of the trunk. I peer over the edge and am taken by surprise of what I see looking back at me.

She's beautiful, like the stars themselves made her. She must be Mother's gift to me. She wears her colors like they were her own. Starbursts on sea waves paint her irises. Long, wind blown hair the color of pine bark in spring. Pink rose petals in a slight pout now falling in wonder and curiosity. 

She is beauty. 

I reach down to her. I'm sure I look hopeful. She takes my hand and a smile crosses my face. I pull her up to me. 

~

Three Years Later

Mother's Hand has, in a way, become home. Just as my love has to me. She sits with me, my arms around her waist and her face nestled in the crook of my neck. Though her back is to me, I can feel how our hearts have synced. She knows me like no other has, and I love her for that.

I look down at her resting form. How could anyone so perfect find their way to me? I kiss her forehead and she shifts. Those captivating eyes meet mine and smile.

"I love you"

I whisper; those words only being hers to hear.

"And I love you."