Tag Archives: six sentences

The Naked Jacaranda

As October faded and decayed, November blossomed; the jacaranda tree exploded in fireworks of purple flowers amongst the green tree tops haggling and hunkering over the back fence. 

The invasion of colour  occurred at the same time they injected her with drugs to fight the cancer in her blood. 

And the flowers began to fall, denuding the tree, forming a purple carpet on the backyard lawn; scattered randomly and suggesting they could be counted where they fell or numbered as the hairs on her head. The purple flowers faded, cut off from the tree, turned brown and became one with the earth. 

As the last of the flowers fell, tiny green shoots pushed through, heralds of the turning season. And she waited. 

 

Love is…

Stephen watched his father’s ritual from the breakfast table as his father kissed his mother goodbye as he left for work and said, “I love you.”

His father never left or entered the house without this mantra.

Stephen wondered what love really meant because he loved choc-chip ice cream and Adam Sandler films and his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures.

He had even considered giving Elizabeth Jenkins one of his coveted G.I. Joe figures because she smelled of strawberry lollies.

When he said, “I love you, Mum” it sounded different to his father’s repeated refrain.

Lying on the couch, her head bare from cancer’s indignity, she gave him one of her warm smiles and said, “I know you do, dear.”