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Sunset over the Orchard

by Kevin Barkman

By Kevin BarkmanPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Sunset over the Orchard
Photo by Bogdan Farca on Unsplash

So, reader, to start this off, so there’s no confusion, I just wanted to tell you: I…am a tree. Don’t worry, this isn’t some weird metaphor. I’m not just some tall human comparing myself to a majestic plant. I am one hundred percent, bark and branches, leaves and fruit…tree.

Now, you may be wondering: why is a tree writing to you? Or more likely, how is a tree writing to me? The answers are: because I can, and because I can.

Before we continue, let me introduce myself. My name is Peary. I’ve been in this same pear orchard for my whole life. Well, except for a short time in a nursery as a sapling. The point is, I have seen A LOT of weird, sometimes disturbing, things.

For starters, do you know how many horny teenagers think it’s a good idea to sneak off through the orchard for sexy time? Because I do. Take the number you have in your head and double it. Actually, no. Triple it. Human teenagers, man, what can you do. I’ve dealt with sixty years of this crap. Some of the other trees have been here over a hundred years. Oh, the stories they could tell.

Though, it’s not just teenagers. Adults of all ages can be just as bad. I don’t understand the appeal. Why come out here with the bugs and the dirt when they could be at home or a hotel in a nice bed?

At any rate, that’s not even the weird stuff. Horny humans are fairly commonplace. As I understand it, they’re everywhere. The weird stuff usually comes later at night. I’ve seen it all. Naked women dancing and running through the rows. Mischievous children playing with fireworks, accidentally setting my brethren ablaze. You name it, and it’s probably happened here in my orchard.

The strangest thing, however, was…well, this one time, I saw… I wasn’t really sure what it was at the time. It was late at night. They were a few rows away, but I could have sworn the dark figures I saw were burying something. No, not a corpse. Though, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that too.

This was a small unassuming box. Which, in the light of day, may not have been an oddity. But at this time of night, it was downright bizarre. A man and a woman, I believe. They had been there for hours before they ever started digging. They pored over a small metal box, placing a series of objects inside it. They stood there over it with reverence or maybe sadness in their faces, illuminated only by the full moon.

Once they started digging, it took only a little while longer before they placed the box in the ground. The man collapsed to his knees the second the last shovelful of dirt had been placed, emotion overwhelming him. The woman, similarly overcome, wrapped her arms around him. The two sat there entwined, the woman doing everything she could to comfort the man.

That was maybe twenty years ago.

As the years passed, I continued to think about that night periodically. As time moved forward, other things began to occupy my thoughts, and the memory of that night faded. That is, until recently.

A few nights ago, an hour or so before sunset, a woman came for a stroll through my orchard. I did not recognize her, but she seemed very familiar with this place. The wind whipped around her face, showing the silver streaks in otherwise fiery red hair. She mulled around the area for some time, searching for the spot. I didn’t make the connection until she pulled out her gardening shovel and began to dig. It only took her a few minutes to uncover the treasure.

After pulling the box from its longtime home, the red-haired woman came to rest beneath my trunk. A sadness came over her as she pried open the metal container. When she got it open, I finally began to understand the emotions she displayed. Inside it were photographs, trinkets, mementos of someone she cared for deeply.

I watched over her shoulder as she pored over the photos. Each one holding images of a child accompanied by a young man, a beautiful blonde woman, or a younger version of the woman before me. Seeing them, I understood what it was: a memorial.

The man must have been the same one that helped bury the box that night so long ago. I may never know what happened to that poor child, but I could see in her eyes the pain she must be experiencing. Something told me though, that the child was not her own offspring. She clearly shares a deep connection with him, but judging by the pictures, I believe the man and blonde woman must have been the parents.

She took her time flipping through the images, tears beginning to flow from her eyes. After a while, she reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling another stack of photos. After a last long look, she placed the new stack into the box and closed it up again.

“Goodbye, brother. I’ll always miss you.” She whispers. “For now, go tell Andy I love him.”

With that, she returned to the freshly dug hole, reverently placing the container inside before covering it once more.

Sixty years. Sixty years I have lived here in this orchard. Sixty years I have watched humans of all ages come and go. But this. This was likely the most human thing I have witnessed. Love across time. Decades passing without ever losing an ounce of that love.

You see, we trees don’t have that kind of love. Don’t get me wrong, care for the world around us, we hold love in us, but it’s not the same. We don’t get to share the kinds of physical affections as you do. We don’t get to embrace our loved ones or comfort them in times of sadness. Sometimes I envy you humans.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Kevin Barkman

Somehow, my most popular story is smut. I don't usually write smut. I did it once, and look what happened. Ugh.

Anyway, Hope you enjoy my work. I do pour my heart, soul, sweat and tears into it.

PS: Please read more than my smut story.I beg

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