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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Jul 1, 2014 12:22:29 GMT -5
The style is flash fiction.
The word limit is 500 words.
Topic: Arbor Day
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Post by Kaez on Jul 6, 2014 0:58:35 GMT -5
The almond trees are flowering on Tu Bishvat.
On the New Year of Trees, the Levant is adorned with fig and etrog blossoms blanketing the hills and coursed through the valleys. Her streambeds and chaparral ridges are crowned with the delicate white petals that glisten with vivid dew and youth. Pink fleshy hearts, sun-yellow sprigs of ripe pollen. For the first three blooms, a sapling's fruit is forbidden, Leviticus says. On the fourth it's Holy, brought on carts to Zion's gates. So says the Lord thy God.
Ten thousand fourth-year almonds are crated through Sinai's mid-day shadow. Plump figs glisten and sweat. The petrels steal a few before the caramel-skinned driver delivers the Wrath with a waving hand. He whisks away the fowl over which Dominion is his and Jeruslam's gates swing wide before the wheels of his cart.
Schoolchildren plant junipers near the Heights. Come back when you're ninety and see the Grace in each leaf, the rabbis said. Sundried businessmen plant rows of cypress and pear, neat and straight down the shallow banks of Galilee. Donate a tree for the neighbor kid in Iraq, help build a better future in Israel, God bless America and God bless you.
The six-millennium olive trees in Bcheale, who granted a branch to Noah after the settling of the floodwater, sigh their winter songs. Lebanon's scornful northern breeze sweeps away a petal or two that catch the eye of a wandering girl.
Schouchao Bao is obligatory. The Resolution on the Unfolding of a Nationwide Voluntary Tree-planting Campaign used that word "voluntary", but the PRC interpreted things differently. And the PRC's interpretation is non-negotiable. No resolution was necessary to make that clear.
Rose and elms adorn the tourist palaces and a few artisanal bonsais are potted inside. Five hundred miles west, the canopy of their elder siblings is unbroken for an endless distance. Rarer things there than could be believed. Folk doctors and pelt hunters stumbling over forest spirits and mountain hermits. Taoist shrines encircle ancient roseapple trunks spiraling into firework displays of golden anthers. Strange fruits unknown to Latin nomenclature fall from their dazzling branches. The great Dao seeds the wheels of China's eternal cycle.
In the shade of lonely bonsais, fill out paperwork, name and address. Planted four damson trees this year. Doesn't matter that if the smog doesn't get them, the bulldozers will. Nobody will read it. No audits, just militant bureaucracy. Postmark to Beijing and find pictures of wooded hills on a laptop screen. How far is Zishixiang by train? The trains don't yet go there? By 2020 it'll be bustling, but there won't be any trees.
Tibetan cherries bear unfathomable frosts, dormant beneath their polished shell of reflective bronze. An almost-unearthly shine to their queer trunks. The Dgelugspa disciples bow before them, visualizing the Dharma branching off in infinite directions. Buddha-nature blooms unconditionally. But the fruits stopped bearing in the east. The cherry can't take the heat and the Red sun is ruthless. The soil's drying up. |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jul 6, 2014 2:06:27 GMT -5
Tristan awoke as early as he usually did, 7:00am on the dot. But this time around he threw back the covers in uncontainable excitement, his eyes wide at the intense anxiety the day was already bringing. From downstairs he heard the soft voices of his parents as they seemed to be busy with something big. He knew better than to just rush downstairs, as much as he wanted to. Instead he quickly threw on a shirt and pair of shorts, making a mess of his room as he did so. Discarded clothes were left strewn on the floor and some of his toys had been thrown about.
By then he heard the back door close and his mother’s voice ring out from the backyard, he didn’t even take the time to hear what she was saying. Immediately he flew out of his room; down the stairs, two at a time, and into the kitchen. Once in there, it was clear that his parents had dragged something large through the house, potting mixture and scuff marks covered the floor, leading to the back door. Even though he knew what it was, there was a part of him that still reacted in surprise, and yet his mind dared not mention what was coming in fear it would jinx the outcome.
He slammed the backdoor open, the flyscreen rattling against the bricks of their suburban home and bringing him outside. Their backyard was bare, having just bought the property. However Tristan could see the looming trees in his neighbour’s yards, their branch reaching up into the sky and casting shadows from their leaves. He could barely count, but Tristan knew all their names; pine, ash, oak and gumtree were just a few he saw. He once felt jealous of their luck, but not anymore.
This time Tristan paid them little attention, instead he ran around the side of the house. It was there that his parents were waiting for him, just under his bedroom window. Between them was the prize and star of Tristan’s eyes. It was a just a sapling, barely his height but he could see that it was a Beech. He couldn’t believe how lucky he felt, beech was his favourite, with its strong bark and multiple limbs, and he couldn’t wait to see how it would grow over the years. Maybe it would reach out to his window and keep him company at night, slowly rapping at the pane.
Running over to it, he dropped to his knees before it, gingerly reaching out to stroke it. He had to think of a name, but nothing was coming to him. He didn’t need to worry though, he thought. He had plenty of time to get to know it and learn from it what its name would be. Instead he looked to his parents with tears of joy in his eyes and they smiled back. Leaning in to hug him and the sapling they both whispered to him.
“Happy Arbor day, son.” |
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Jul 10, 2014 0:34:14 GMT -5
Kaez’s Review:
Your writing probably tells more about you as a person than I think anyone else on these forums. Like, I can read your work and feel like I know you, and that’s cool. The contrast you create between a culture that respects and maybe even reveres their natural places and one that just sees it as an obstacle is thought-provoking to say the least.
There was a lot of language in there I wasn’t familiar with, which I think I’d maybe advise against in the future when writing flash as it sort of ruins the spirit of a quick read when you have to go look up every tenth word. But it’s clear you’re either very knowledgeable on the subject you’ve chosen, did some significant research, or pulled a whole lot of detail out of your ass. Either way, it was a beautifully written, albeit somber, piece which I’ll probably being showing to a friend of mine who happens to be an Arborist. Well done.
Dragon’s Review:
This little story was really satisfying. I really didn’t grasp where it was going until like the second to last paragraph. I just kept thinking, “Man, this kid loves trees.” Then it hit me what you were doing, and this big smile crept across my face as I pictured it. Just this idea of a kid getting a tree for Arbor Day as thought it were Christmas morning and being as excited as if his parents had bought him a puppy; like he was looking forward to climbing it in a few years and carving his name in it. Really clever use of topic and I think it was my favorite of the four I got to judge this round. Might be my favorite of all eight, honestly. Made me think of that big old tree I wrote about a while back. It’s always a nice change of pace to read something that just makes you smile because it makes you feel good.
Giving this one to Dragon.
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