Sunday Sketch No. 4 by Terry Whidborne
On the edge of the clearing the Tree-men waited. Waited. And waited. And continued to wait. If the truth be known they had been waiting for nearly one thousand years. As each season turned they felt sure that their waiting would come to an end, yet here they still were, waiting.
At first they had talked and grumbled, discussed the goings on in the clearing and the forest. They watched as wildflowers bloomed and died. They watched bushfires sweep through, tickling their noses with heat. They watched as more wildflowers bloomed over the previously scorched earth.
“It’s all a circle”, they would mutter to one another,” It’s all one giant circle!”
Approximately two hundred years ago they had a falling out over something. No one knew what about, but the stories tell how the earth shook, the winds blew with fury, and the stars disappeared from the sky in fear. Then all became ominously silent.
They have not spoken to each other since. Occasionally a cheeky Galah would offer to be a Go-Between but neither consented. The Galah would fly off to his flock laughing at his own audacity and the Tree-men remained, side by side on the edge of the clearing, waiting.
Copyright May 2014