Fable
A bedtime story
Once upon a time a long time ago their lived a beautiful fairy by the name of Marigold, or Mari for short. Mari, like most fairy's, lived in the garden. Specifically in a pear tree. It was a beautiful slender tree with fat juicy red pears at the end of summer that all of the girls and boys loved to pluck and eat and any that they left behind became feasts for the bunnies and squirrelies and wormies.
Miriam RhodesPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Pear Tree
The courtyard was buzzing with life as Eren sat at his window. His room was high up, and he had a clear view of everybody going about their business, unaware that they were being watched. There was Lottie sitting at the fountain, singing to a girl as she braided her long hair, and on the other side of the fountain, a multitude of doves ate a handful of breadcrumbs as a young man painted a picture of them. Eren recognized him. It was his friend, Solomon, who was trying to get into a prestigious art school. Across from them, an acquaintance named Jonas did stretches before running laps around the courtyard to prepare for an upcoming race. There were others – some familiar and others foreign – that made up the vibrant collection of people in the beautiful courtyard, and with the diverse group came an array of hobbies that Eren loved to observe before running errands in the neighboring town.
Patricia L.Published 3 years ago in FictionGoblin Market
“Rare pears and greengages, // Damsons and bilberries, // Taste them and try: // Currants and gooseberries, // Bright-fire-like barberries, // Figs to fill your mouth, // Citrons from the South, // Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; // Come buy, come buy …”
Strangers' Fruit
Two tired men approached a diminutive woman who doddered along displaying a gentle smile. The smile was strong enough to push back her large cheeks and close her eyes. As she walked, she hummed a strangely familiar melody. Her feet moved across barren ground softened by a pile of ashes and adorned by a half-eaten apple. A thin brown worm moved in and out of the apple. She spoke softly. Her voice, rich with sadness was much different than her face conveyed. As she approached the silhouettes of the two tired men, the vibrations of her words seem to come from behind her and pass through their tall, male bodies.
A very old story
My grandma used to tell us a story when we were kids. My siblings, my cousins, and I would sit in a semicircle and listen to her soft and deep voice as she would narrate a story that was passed on to her and her siblings from her grandmother. A story as old as Nature herself, she would claim. We didn’t know how old that was, but we imagined it was something like grandma’s age multiplied by one hundred —or something like that. What did we know? It didn’t matter. We liked listening to her telling it.
Natalia Perez WahlbergPublished 3 years ago in FictionTree'O Life
His name was ___, and he was a seed. Born in the scorched dirt of a small plot to the South, where the adjacent earth was soupy red and salted loam. And it was no garden, but who could imagine richer soil; he was where he was from: a seed grown where planted.
Naming the Serpent
The creature slithered down to her, its scales gliding over the rough branches of the Forbidden Tree, tongue flicking in and out with a teasing rhythm at the heavy pears loading the branches. Tear shaped leaves scattered sunlight across its curved back, scales sparkling like the diamonds her Father had shown her. Every movement the creature made was a picture of mountains at sunset, every sway an iris blooming to face the dawn.
Jordan MarshallPublished 3 years ago in Fictionmy favorite neighbor
I can see why he chose to live in the pear tree. The intricate veins of its leaves, the way the sun shines through them to warm your body as you rest on a branch, the sweet taste of its speckled fruit, the deep roots that promise security and stability. It’s the most beautiful spot in the neighborhood.
Mara MarquesPublished 3 years ago in FictionIndoor gardening
On the south side of the house, in the petty part of the yard, there is a small garden. The garden grows cucumbers, mugwort, lavender, carrots, tomatoes, and marigolds. The Peartree grows in that same plot too. In the springtime, the bed gets made again and the earthy smell gets trapped and rescued under the nail beds of Henry. Kate watches him from the study, as Henry takes the seeds from the packet and plunges them into the dirt, covers it, and presses his hands on the top of the soil almost like kneading dough. And then moves to the next, Kate is unsure if he plans out a pattern prior to the planting or if he simply moves without thought. She often feels like she is watching something secret like she’s watching him change his clothes or something. It feels intimate, but it’s gardening, she reassured herself, surely this is fine. Kate’s condition didn’t allow her much time outside. Her mother told her that the fresh air was only suitable in small doses, however, when she did have outings it was invigorating, and thought that her passing out was simply a sign of that. The pear tree was always a peculiar tree to her, the trunk so rough and squat, and this one was particularly pear-shaped in its foliage, the white blossoms would aromate the space, and she would crack the window just a touch brings her face down to the sill and inhale deeply, once her mother walked in and Kate was able to pretend she was tying her shoe, not sniffing the magnificent smell that wafted over in the warming midday sun. She often imagined that smell wrapping around her like a gauzy white cloak or blanket like the one that she had had as a baby, the waffled texture bringing weight to the blanket that was otherwise not there at all. She felt safe and bigger than she was somehow.
Claire HunterPublished 3 years ago in FictionIf Only Pear Could Talk
A big beautiful spreading pear proudly stood in the middle of the family backyard. It was not the only fruit tree there, there were also apple, mulberry and tart cherry trees. It was not the oldest in the family’s little orchard, that would be the two mulberries, but the pear tree was the biggest and obviously the most valuable as it sat right in the center, providing shade for a big part of the backyard. It had been planted by the patriarch of the family, a father of two girls at the time, in 1951, to celebrate finishing the construction of the main house on his little farm. In more than 40 years of its existence, the pear tree saw a lot of the family life and the way the village changed.
Lana V LynxPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Old Pear Tree
The wind rustled the few surviving leaves of an old pear tree. It was the beginning of spring and everything was slowly waking up after a long, cold winter. The tree cracked his bark and stretched his branches to the ground.
Bohemian BirdPublished 3 years ago in FictionAn Affair of Dishonor
Edmund and Gabriel, brother princes of House Errol, sat in the Candied Grove on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Shereen. Trees of red apple, green pear, orange and yellow peach, and purple plum hung over them.
Joseph DelFrancoPublished 3 years ago in Fiction