Forever

There is a small, rounded pebble painted sky-blue by the hand of a young girl before she speckled it pink and yellow with flowers. The pebble has been carefully placed, as though it was as fragile as an egg, upon a tuft of green grass that is growing in the thin layer of loose, leafy-black dirt which has accumulated through the years inside the scaly crook of an oak tree’s branches. The tree (just as the girl had) also holds the pebble as though it was fragile; and the tuft of grass, and the accumulated soil, cradling them all tightly under it’s canopy as the far-away sky roils, and rumbles. With swaying hands and stiff fingers the tree creaks and moans, warning away the storm, though it could us the water the storm would bring, as could the golden sea of grass rolling like waves around it.

But there is no chancing it now, as a connection was made between living things, and the tree would retain this precarious hold on it’s charge forever if it must until the girl returns… until the girl returns… until the girl returns…