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A Magic Pear Tree - Creative Writing in a Happy Mood

 

The pear tree blossoms were sweet constellations of silky stars, as if born from ancient fairy lore. What a heavenly aroma they imparted to the breeze, imbuing every swirl. The birdsong fluttered as the liveliest of flutes, heady with youth’s merriment. Bumblebees darted and buzzed as the bonniest of springtime bands. Cooperative chaos as a symphony feels so very magical!

 

Mother nature is that way, her grand orchestra playing on, its conductor shyly invisible. As days and nights came and went, as sunny and rainy days waltzed on, the pears grew and grew. Then gently, as a girlish grin, spring morphed into summer. The heavenly heat was the kind that lights every heart-flame to a healthy roar. 

 

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A Magic Pear Tree - Sad Mood

 

The long abandoned pear tree cracked and sank. Once upon a sweet-time, it had been a bird cafe, a nest hotel, a hub of life. No more. No more. Aging was its mean master, its mortis grasp was absolute. In a gruelling cruelty, its existence fell into a grave lament. It languished, rotting in the dank gloom, sorrow numbed. Ice fettered its soul. Brr! Tremble! Shake! Bleak cold brought such violent shivering; brittle twigs snapped and scattered. Storms as soulless vandals stalked.

 

The wild winter wind was an ice whip; it lashed with brutal bitterness, wounding it deeply, stinging its heart wood. The scars, as chiseled tombstone etchings, curled into a grim epitaph. Sadness as shadows waxed and waned, yet ever lingered as a cold mist. Alone, it wept without buds. Barren, it wallowed without spring leaves. Fungus, as a toothless fiend, as a famished black hole, devoured it.  With my whole heart I bid a loving farewell to that ancient tree; that steadfast and generous giver, for its time to enter Heaven’s realm had come. 

 

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The Pear Tree - A Hopeful Mood

 

The night was a rebel, defying reality to syphon ancient magick from an unseen reservoir. Although the sky was a slate-grey blanket with neither moonlight nor starlight, a dreary drudge of ordinariness, the pear tree’s blossoms shone as stars. Anti-shadows formed beneath its wide hugging branches, its spotlights as roving dapples. In its presence mother nature thrived!

 

The rolling ground was the light green of spring grass. Buttercups glowed as clovers blushed. Birds caroled in cascades of cheery chirps, singing as if it was sun-up. Quite inexplicably, the breeze was as balmy as summertime. There had never been a more mysterious midnight. Even the sweet robin flew out to have a ‘look-see,’ venturing from her hedgerow nest. 

 

Robin, feathers well fluffed, eyes spryly observant, clung tightly to her twig. An avian brain has never puzzled for so long. Doubtless it was a rare kind of night-day. A solitary pear tree challenging the dark? So bold and brave, as if it was anointed as Heaven’s apprentice? Surely such flourishes are as pointless as they are mute? Yet Camelot’s code, Love’s lore birthed in ancient magick, had spoken it as an omen of change’s fulcrum point well met.