Summer’s wandered off. Harvest moon presides during crisp-aired dormiveglia that sweetens the apples. Not quite autumn, sunshine continues cavorting with wind’s playful nips.
Today, Melba strolls the medicinal garden in rural Shelby. The story goes that a cherry orchard once stood here. The girl’s parents owned the orchard, and the boy’s parents were sharecroppers for them. It was where two farm kids grew up together and fell in love as the years passed. One night her father heard them in the hayloft. The boy and his family were banished from the county.
The color in her cheeks faded; her skin waxen. She took to her bed – then passed.
Drought tindered the trees to flame; ash. Her pinch-faced mother planted one apple tree over her only daughter’s grave.
Like her, I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace.
This story is part fact, part fiction. There is a medicinal garden in Shelby, where a cherry orchard once stood. Alyssum is a medicinal plant with many properties, one of which is pain-killing. On Saturday a friend and I went to the garden. The top image is of an arnica blossom. Arnica is also a plant known for pain-killing properties. The rest is fiction (to my knowledge!)
Sanaa is today’s host for dVerse’ Prosery. Sanaa says:
write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of your choice. Since it is a kind of Flash Fiction, we here at the pub have a limit of 144 words. [W]rite a Prose piece which includes the [above] line.