And then she remembered the orphan, planted away from the orchard. Majestic, there it was, her sheltered plum tree, arms up-reached, a mass of clustered, pink-tinged white stars. It wasn’t japonica glistening like coral in Henry Reed’s neighbouring gardens; it was glorious plum shining like pearls in hers.
The garden was in a sorry state. The wind had blown billows of blossom like confetti thrown by a demented wedding guest, and it had stuck to the windows of the house in wet globs. Cleaning materials in hand, she swooshed soggy blooms until shiny eyes of glass looked back at her.
And then she remembered the orphan, planted away from the orchard. Majestic, there it was, her sheltered plum tree, arms up-reached, a mass of clustered, pink-tinged white stars. It wasn’t japonica glistening like coral in Henry Reed’s neighbouring gardens; it was glorious plum shining like pearls in hers.
Sandra James
27/8/2021 11:34:50 am
Lovely, Shelley. I could smell the blossom and I read :) Some great description, too!
Sue Clayton
28/8/2021 03:52:13 am
Empathy, Shelley. I've spent the last month cleaning wind debris from my garden but now my plum tree's white stars are blossoming.
Jennifer Kim
28/8/2021 04:50:01 am
Shelley, this is just the most beautiful language! As close to a moving painting as words could get. Hope you write more like this in the future, too.
Paul Lewthwaite
31/8/2021 10:38:40 pm
I agree with everyone-else's comments. Very evocative writing. Definitely felt I was in the scene.
Bill Sells
1/9/2021 02:58:11 pm
Love '...like a demented wedding guest.' Very nicely crafted, Shelley! Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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