The Nightingale And The Tree
For as long as she had known the old tree stood proud in shades of dark broken oak wrapped in sticks of fruitless fortune. It never gave birth to flowers nor did its tanned leaves ever stroke with the wind. It always stood lonely and overlooked as it baked under the glare of the yellow sun & surrounded itself with that of sunburnt grass.
Tonight it looked different, almost alive.
She had always admired it for its uncanny determination to battle through the four seasons, unshakably. Its branches were blankets of shade despite the rasped broken leaves & its soil proudly stamped 5 generations of the Anderson name. She wasn't sure what had made her come to a firm decision that the tree would be the only place she would say 'I do' to those forest green eyes but it felt right.
She could hear murmurs of admiration drop into the raging silent background as her small step took her closer to the man she had dreamed of many of times. Her father's wrinkled hand firmly squeezed her own as they took another step forward. The music at queue danced into the night and in the very moment she could hear from a far distance the tune of a bird.
She had never been a conventional person and tonight was her avowal of that nature. She was neither a proper Christian nor was she enslaved to the ideas of today's generation's. Tonight was perfect...just perfect and oh so unconventional. They were in the presence of those whom only mattered and under the glare of the peeking moon.
Lifting her thick lashes that had fallen in utter disbelief, she gazed at the men standing not too far away from her in a black fitted attire eyeing her with such intensity that his vivid green eyes shone with a different glaze. Twisting her head towards the old man that held her hand so tight in his palm that it almost hurt, a pain so shallow cut through the layers of skin as it bolted to her heart. It was time.
She could almost vividly hear the flattering of wings above her head as her father slowly as ever placed her hand into the firm hands of the man with emerald eyes. Despite all the things she had told herself, her eyes followed the old man back to his seat next to her mother whom flashed pearly white teeth. She swallowed feeling a sudden haze and vulnerability as her cinnamon eyes bore into the sparkling shade of dark green.
It was time.
Hope you enjoy. I have no particular reason for writing it.
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Edited by ..KaJenDelena.. - 23 June 2012 at 4:08am