Fariada, or Ode to magic

I once knew a cherrytree that would not come into blossom. People believed it was cursed. Some wicked witch had put a spell on it, they said.

 

I loved that cherrytree. He felt like magic. Old branches that would keep me safe and cherish my dreams. I looked at him and saw the promise of things that make you happy.

 

I prayed for him to bloom. "Come into blossom", I cried. He never answered.

 

They cut it off in the morning. Shared the pieces to keep them warm. Stood next to the fire and talked about how the yard would look empty now.

 

We got a piece of the trunk. Like heartbeats in our hands. Dad took it, and made two wonderful statues out of it. The Fariada twins.

 

I guess there are cherrytrees meant to blossom through art...

 

Done