Walnut Trees

{I woke up one morning in college after having a dream of trees only to write this little flash fiction).

I was only there visiting – visiting a family I had never met, never heard of.

I seemed to have gotten on the wrong bus. But, when I arrived, it was everything but unknown.

The familiar scent of pine and pancakes passionately reminded me of the steps I had taken on this ground before.

The sound of mediocrity and blue-collar acted as a refreshing photograph taken years ago.

The sights, however, seemed to have been replaced. Remodeled. Reinvented.

As I stepped out of the truck and familiarized my senses with the smells and sounds, I opened my eyes.

Walnuts. Toasted. Sugared. Roasted. Dry.

However, many of anything ago, this place was white with a hint of gray, which was hinted with silence.

I stood facing a road of chimneys with houses and against a mild, brisk, and bitter wind.

The snow was so white and the sky so gray that I almost missed the colossal structures of nature standing directly before me. For I was in the presence of two enormous trees.

The category I could not identify as I amateurishly feasted my eyes and slowly tilted back my head only to be awe-stricken by the endless height and texture of the trees.

The bark was cold and rough to the touch. Each breath I took made my lungs crinkle and freeze like shards of ice. However, each breath I breathed so close to those trees made them soften, bitterly, with my warmth.

It took me quite some time to realize the trees were flowering with…pecans.


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