They call her the ‘Crying Tree’. Grief wells from her roots, spilling out where once her limb held a swing. How she loved the laughter of children as they squealed “higher! higher!”

It was a dreadful day when lightening struck the base of her swinging bough. No one noticed she was injured.

When the sun returned, a child called Ruthie rushed to the tree swing. The tree struggled to hold the girl. She moaned and crackled as her bough snapped plunging Ruthie to the ground in a lifeless heap.

It wasn’t her fault but she never forgave herself. She weeps.

~kat

100 Words for Jane Dougherty’s Friday Fictioneers Challenge inspired by this photo by © Sandra Crook.