No Trespassing

I would like to thank Rochelle for conducting photo prompts every Friday at FRIDAY FICTIONEERS .This week’s photo is shared by Sandra Crook. Thank you Sandra.

My story follows the photo.

Photo prompt - Sandra Crook

Photo prompt – Sandra Crook

Two hands were covered in mud and a wooden box was buried deep in the soil. I was made to sit beside it.

As time passed by my branches reached for the sky. Leaves and birds danced to the tune of Mr. Wind but with nighttime all would melt away in darkness.

Life went on as it was for me and the others – relaxed and lazy. Children played in the mornings, gamblers sat in the afternoons and lovers nestled at nighttime.

Then, came change and along with it some strangers.

Times had changed. Now a barbed wire encircled me like a ring. A wooden board was also hammered to the ground which read: Private Property.

Reality was – I was a trespasser in my own land. My fate again rested in a set of hands – only this time, they had an axe.

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12 thoughts on “No Trespassing

  1. Love this phrase: “a trespasser in my own land.” This spoke to me of the wistful feeling of how times change. It seemed that this tree had been planted in mourning for a loved one, an otherwise unmarked grave – but at the same time that the box could also be some hidden treasure, and I loved the juxtaposition, especially the unexpected image of the gamblers. There is something achingly sad, but hopeful, or at least possibly hopeful (and isn’t that was hope is?)

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    • Thanks for reading and commenting Anne. Your second guess is right – the box was a hidden treasure. I was thinking of deleting the sentence about gamblers but as it gave a sense of bonding with the tree so I decided to kept it. I’m glad that you enjoyed the read.

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