avatarMarilyn Flower

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Abstract

sheard.</p><p id="cb8b">She doesn’t mind my fingers running over her roughness. Or my arms when I wrap them around her trunk and hold on tight, my cheek resting on her heart.</p><p id="0d2a">I think she kinda likes it.</p><p id="bc55">Her skin soothes me. Her bark — jaggy, craggy, scratchy — heavily layered overlapping tree shingles like a tiled roof. Bumpy, rugged, delightful to run my hands over.</p><p id="a70c">This is how we talk. Our private form of Braille. Uneven enough to trust what I hear.</p><div id="4824" class="link-block">

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            <h2>Knotty Pine Love</h2>
            <div><h3>A reminder of what it takes for love to endure</h3></div>
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Her name is Helena

If I heard correctly

Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash

Her name is Helena.

At least I think that’s what she said it was. But maybe I misheard.

She doesn’t mind my fingers running over her roughness. Or my arms when I wrap them around her trunk and hold on tight, my cheek resting on her heart.

I think she kinda likes it.

Her skin soothes me. Her bark — jaggy, craggy, scratchy — heavily layered overlapping tree shingles like a tiled roof. Bumpy, rugged, delightful to run my hands over.

This is how we talk. Our private form of Braille. Uneven enough to trust what I hear.

The Daily Cuppa
Short Story
Poetry
Trees
Listening
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