Author Suzanne Burke offers another photo prompt and invites readers to respond through prose or poetry. Her “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” image for this week is a tree house. As I thought about the photo, I imagined a child looking out a window, and so my story begins.
“Grandma, I see a cabin in the trees.”
“You’ve not seen it before?”
“No. Was it there?”
“Yes. Your granddad built it.”
“He did? Why?”
“When he got home from the Vietnam War, he decided to build a house in the trees.”
“But, why?”
“He said he wanted to be near the birds.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your granddad kept hearing things that he didn’t want to hear.”
“Like what, grandma?”
“Explosions, gun shots, yelling. At first, he’d climb into the trees and sit there by himself.”
“What did he hear up there?”
“The birds. He told me he never heard a bird sing when he was in Vietnam.”
“And, he missed them?”
“I suspect so, but I also think their songs helped him with the other things he was hearing.”
“Can I go up to the cabin, grandma?”
“Well…I guess so. I’ll go with you. I haven’t been up there for years.”
The child grabs hold of her wrinkled hand and walks with her through the grassy field behind the house to a clearing. She brushes aside the overgrowth as she steps onto a suspension bridge. They silently walk across the bridge to the cabin. Once inside, she takes a deep, slow breath. Not much has changed, she thinks.
The child rushes to a pile of papers and picks up an old photograph. “Grandma, grandma. Look what I found.”
“Oh my. I’ve looked many times for this old picture.” Pointing to the three men in the image, she explains. “The middle one is your granddad. The other two were his best friends. They never came home.”
“Why not?”
“They were killed in the war. Sometimes your granddad thought he could hear them when he sat outside. Shall we go out to the deck and listen?”
The two walk outside the cabin to the old metal chairs, now covered with mold and bird droppings. Grandma uses her apron to wipe them off.
“This is where granddad sat?”
“Yes. Sometimes I joined him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing and everything. Let’s be quiet and listen. You just might hear him whisper.”
The child looks over to grandma. She has closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards towards the sky. Following her lead, he shuts his eyes and listens. After a while, he smiles.
“Grandma, I heard it.”
“What, child?”
“Everything.”
“You’ve not seen it before?”
“No. Was it there?”
“Yes. Your granddad built it.”
“He did? Why?”
“When he got home from the Vietnam War, he decided to build a house in the trees.”
“But, why?”
“He said he wanted to be near the birds.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your granddad kept hearing things that he didn’t want to hear.”
“Like what, grandma?”
“Explosions, gun shots, yelling. At first, he’d climb into the trees and sit there by himself.”
“What did he hear up there?”
“The birds. He told me he never heard a bird sing when he was in Vietnam.”
“And, he missed them?”
“I suspect so, but I also think their songs helped him with the other things he was hearing.”
“Can I go up to the cabin, grandma?”
“Well…I guess so. I’ll go with you. I haven’t been up there for years.”
The child grabs hold of her wrinkled hand and walks with her through the grassy field behind the house to a clearing. She brushes aside the overgrowth as she steps onto a suspension bridge. They silently walk across the bridge to the cabin. Once inside, she takes a deep, slow breath. Not much has changed, she thinks.
The child rushes to a pile of papers and picks up an old photograph. “Grandma, grandma. Look what I found.”
“Oh my. I’ve looked many times for this old picture.” Pointing to the three men in the image, she explains. “The middle one is your granddad. The other two were his best friends. They never came home.”
“Why not?”
“They were killed in the war. Sometimes your granddad thought he could hear them when he sat outside. Shall we go out to the deck and listen?”
The two walk outside the cabin to the old metal chairs, now covered with mold and bird droppings. Grandma uses her apron to wipe them off.
“This is where granddad sat?”
“Yes. Sometimes I joined him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing and everything. Let’s be quiet and listen. You just might hear him whisper.”
The child looks over to grandma. She has closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards towards the sky. Following her lead, he shuts his eyes and listens. After a while, he smiles.
“Grandma, I heard it.”
“What, child?”
“Everything.”
trees speak in the breeze
while birds sing nature's glory
be still and listen
while birds sing nature's glory
be still and listen
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