What I do is this. As soon as I wake up, I prepare myself with a normal morning routine, and then I sit down and write a story about whatever comes to mind. More often than not, it is a surprise. Many people call this “Flash Fiction”. This is Flash Fiction February.
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Paul has to replace the old hammock that hangs in the big Willow Tree. Usually it would be brought into the house and folded up for the Winter, but at some point, someone forgot. It was probably one of those things his mom did, and stopped getting done when she passed.
After hanging out there for at least a couple of years, it is a mess. It’s been wet, and then dried out in the weather, frozen, grown moldy, then dried again; Several times. Paul knows that when he touches it, it’s going to essentially fall apart. It does fall apart.
The wraps that wind around the branches are still good for something. There are the little metal rings at either end that can be salvaged. He’ll give that stuff to Mint. Mint will appreciate having a few new items to plunk into a coffee can in the garage that he can use for some project or other.
The Willow is gorgeous. It grows, as one would expect, right next to a small stream that runs to the northeast part of the property. As is typical in this part of the country, the north facing walls of a house don’t have much for windows. It makes the view of the Willow tree obscured. It is one of the most private places to be on the property. Once in the hammock, one is completely unobservable to the house. There is the lack of sight lines from the house, and then the long, strong Willow growth is an invisibility cloak.
There are two strong primary branches that protrude from the trunk at about 12-feet from the ground. One is longer, hanging out over the stream. The other dramatically turns upward at about 4-feet from the trunk. Paul uses a ladder to reach the hammock wraps that he detaches from the branches. Attaching the new one from each position. The old footings that had been nailed to the tree are rotted, and untrustworthy.
Paul recalls the many times he sat in the old hammock with his mom. She would read to him, and they would have nice conversations. He would nap. She would hold him. There were times he hid there when he was angry with parents. He realizes of course, that they always knew where he was, even though they could not see him behind the invisibility cloak.
Climbing into the new Hammock, he makes a mental note that he will have to remember to bring it in before Winter. Looking up at the innards of the tree, like he has hundreds of times, Paul realizes that this is one of his favorite places on Earth. He hasn’t seen all that much of Earth yet, but he figures he will. He does know that he feels very much protected and safe in this hammock, hidden from the view of the house, and only visible to the bank on the other side of the stream.
Paul wakes up from an apparent power nap. It’s a surprise to him that he fell asleep. He makes his way down the ladder, pulls out his multi-tool, and carefully removes the nails that were holding the footings into the tree. He then adds the nails to the cache of items for Mint, and then tosses the rotted wood into the slow moving stream. He pauses and watches them float for a moment. The ladder will stay perched against the big branch for future access to the hammock.
Paul’s memories of Valerie continue to be the source of most of the gratefulness that has grown in him since being back home. He texts Alex about the hammock. He hugs the big Willow.
The End 624 Words
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