cherry tree -- 1917

cherry tree

THERE IS A BIG SPOILER FOR 1917. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ MY AUTHOR'S NOTE AND WANT TO WATCH THE FILM, DON'T READ IT.

THERE IS AN ATTEMPT AT SUICIDE IN THIS, SO IF ANYONE FINDS THIS TRIGGERING OR HARMFUL TO THEIR MIND IN ANY WAY, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM READING THIS.

March 20th 1919

I only looked up from the book when my two daughters stood in front of me with their gardening gear on, their shadows blocking the sunlight from view, just like the smog at Écou- no, stop. That had been two years ago. Stop.

"Dad, there's a weed in our garden bed and it won't come out. Can you help?" Ruth, the eldest, asked. I almost didn't hear her.

I nodded, setting the book aside and standing up, letting them lead me to their proud garden bed, the flowers they'd planted, joyously dancing in the easterly breeze with their yellow, pink and blue dresses. Helen, the youngest, pointed with her chubby children's fingers at the green ten-inch tall weed growing in their flower bed. The dying sunlight shone full on it, almost as if it was mocking the flowers and the girls. Look at this weed, it mocks you, it scorns you. "That's it. The weed. Get it out, Daddy!"

I bent down to take a closer look. The weed was nothing much to look at. A small woody stem and a crown of fresh new green leaves clustered at the top. It was a tree, a small but stout sapling. But a weed nonetheless. I could see where Ruth and Helen had tried to dig and scratch at it, its white bulbous roots open to the air, going deep below. Green sap bled from a small hole one of them had poked at it, as if trying to saw through it.

The cherry trees were full in bloom, their blossoms like a fair maiden's wedding gown, littering the grass. However they were marred. Their trunks had fallen to the ground beneath, hacked and sawed at like dead corpses. Well, that's what they were. Dead trees just hanging onto life.

"These are cherry trees. Dukes," Blake commented, striding through them, his eyes focused only on the trees.

"How do you know that?" I asked, watching him.

"My mum has an orchard back home," he explained, lifting a tendril of white to peer closer at it. "This time of year, it'd look like it'd be snowing," A soft smile crossed his face. "Joe and me used to pick 'em cherries at harvest time. It took all day."

There was a few moment's silence. I scanned our surroundings with a watchful eye, my grip tightening on the Lee Enfield. 303 rifle. I looked back at him, he'd started moving forward again, moving to the crumbled stone wall. "Are these goners?"

"Nah, they'll grow," he said. "Next year, little seeds will come from those blossoms and fruits. Give them a few more years and they'll be big trees again, just like these ones."

"I'll get the shovel," Ruth remarked, her voice bringing me out of my memories. She'd already started to walk towards the shed, nestled up against the back garden wall.

"No. Don't," I blurted out, my first words that week. My voice was hoarse from misuse but harsh as well. Ruth turned back and I could feel her quizzical gaze. I continued softer. "Let it be."

"But it's a weed," Helen whined from beside me.

And my last words that week were, "No, it's a tree. Your flowers will live." I then scooped up soil and filled the hole the girls had made, covering the roots with earth again.

Straightening, I looked down at it. The sunlight still shone on it, making the leaves shimmer in golden soft light. Maybe it hadn't been mocking them, maybe it was a symbol of some sort, a reminder of Bl- No, it was just a tree. Just a tree. Nothing important.