Hugging against the arctic wind, we watched our son dance around the snow covered sapling. Skipping, crunching the fresh powder, spinning in awkward loops around it, the torch placed at its base lit the area like a memory of Christmas.
My wife’s tears froze silently on her cheeks.
The weatherman called the late spring snow ‘unseasonal’, as if the concept of seasons were still pertinent in this time of climate-death. Seeds would go ungerminated, flower buds were dying on the branch, bees starved in their hives.
We watched our son dance. A feast of beauty, for the hungry times ahead.
From Chuck Wendig’s terribleminds blog:
This week’s challenge is not one of subject, theme, or other detail — the challenge is simply one of length. Because normally? You get 1000 words. Today? You get only 100.
100 words? As anyone who commonly reads my blog on a regular basis will know, I do these all the time – the Friday Fictioneers have a weekly 100 word challenge. But… I found this hard. Mainly because Chuck didn’t give any word, any photo… nothing, beyond the word limit. I found myself absent an idea. So I went to twitter, to see if I could find a prompt, and Chuck himself came to the rescue, with that lovely tweeted picture.
Anyways, so this one is a bit dark, but I think it works ok.
Let me know what you think in the comments.