Monday, April 29for those who wander, wonder & define life on their own terms
Shadow

Fir Giving

Photo credit A Writer Darkly

The giving tree had had enough. He had tolerated pickings, and carvings, and cuttings, but 2020? That shiz was wack. In the year to beat all years, Tree watched Boy go from having an active social life to being quarantined inside with his wife – his days spent staring longingly out the window. Tree wondered what future atrocities Boy was dreaming of performing on him. A swing? Tree could unwittingly hypnotize the rest of the forest. A hammock? Tree would never hear the end of needing a net to keep his nuts from hitting the ground. A treehouse? Like an infestation of lice living in homes made from the bones of his family.

Tree was slowly losing his grip. He only had one thing to give. At noon on a Monday, as the couple looked out the window, the wind rustled his leaves and he gave his final bow. He died slowly and with barely a sound, which no one was around to hear. His last words, a whispered, “timber.”

In remembrance, the Boy posted an epitaph on social media:

Here’s a picture of…the giving tree of fame. It’s dead now, and I never gave it a name. It called me Boy. I called it Tree. If you had to name this dead branch, what would that name be?

Please help Boy choose an apt moniker:

  • Tim Burr
  • Fall N. Fir
  • Tipp Over
  • Tipp Fallwell
  • Cornelius Coniferous
  • Doug Up
  • Shallow Hal
  • Leaning Houser (Dougie’s brother)
  • Doctor Coniferous House, M.D.
  • Roof Blitzer
  • Professor Effergrin Turnt

The Boy isn’t trying to be sappy. He is just taking the elm in a very trying time. He’ll be oakky. He doesn’t want to feel sicknomore. With your help, his tree will always have a worm place in his hearth.

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