Originally published on 7 September on ParagraphPlanet, this micro piece was written from a scene that popped into my mind one day.

They burn your birth-tree with you when you die. Your ash would mix before being scattered by the ever-swirling-whispering-wailing wind. I always thought winter – that dark season – was the perfect time to die. My son was born with the first blossoms. I held the newborn at the newly planted birth-tree next to his mother’s stump. A bitter wind blew ashes from the pyre into the sunlit sky. You shouldn’t die in spring, I thought.

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Notes:

Although this story was written from a scene, it may be connected to the cultural use of the “family groves” I had used “Grove of Graves”; one of my Ruon Chronicle stories which you can read over here.

What I also enjoy doing in these short bursts of fiction is to create a specific cultural feel or even create a specific culture for the story. Through doing this, one is also able to create (or use) history to enliven and enrich the story. But, more about this in my next post!