Under the Lightning Tree is where he'd sit, the boy who thinks. All his troubles seemed to disappear here, watching the majestic white swans feed under the baby blue sky. He often wondered who had sat here prior to his existence.. Who too had basked in the gleaming sunlight in the summer and shivered in the icy grips of winter?
He often wandered under this tree. For this tree had some magnetic pull against him, beckoning him to come and sit when he was upset and whispered to him in the dead hours of the night. He wondered whether or not this tree calls to anyone else, for such beauty and curiosity surrounded this tree in a mist of pink, blue and white.
The boy thought long and hard as he gazed down upon the river, lapping gently at its banks and lazily flowing downstream in contrast to the swift salmon hurriedly swimming against the current like a bumble bee humming from flower to flower. The music was quiet in his ears, it helped him think and he enjoyed singing along. He knew he wasn't the greatest singer but it made him happy so he would sing until his voice gave out and it would fill him with the greatest feeling. Yellow honey breeze. This was the best feeling, the feeling as though anything was possible and everything makes sense. Or maybe that was just The Lightning Tree at it's work..
This is the story of the boy who lived under The Lightning Tree.
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Short stories
Short StoryA collection of short stories I have thought of or found in my notebook over the past few years. I may continue them within time
