The morning sun kissed the earth through scant clouds peppering the sky. The result was an amber lit morning. Catching the sun’s rays was a tree that grew golden hued leaves. The ambiance created magical imaginings one could never escape.
Charlotte finished stirring her coffee and strolled out onto the front porch. She stopped at the railing and hoisted herself up to a half sitting position gazing out onto the prairie beyond the three walnut trees bordering her and her husband’s farm. Her favorite was the golden tree. Maybe it was the golden leaves, or maybe it’s the life it appears to breathe when the breeze hits it just right. The sound of a car driving up the driveway broke her thoughts.
“Ray!” called Charlotte to her husband.
“What? I’m busy. Can’t it wait?”
“No. It’s Charlie. That so called friend of yours.”
“I’ll be right out. And we aren’t friends. Not no more at least.”
A moment later, her husband Ray stepped onto the front porch, put his hands in his pockets, and propped himself against one of the posts holding up the overhang at the top of the steps. He watched as Charlie sauntered up to the steps and stopped.
“Charlie, you can’t have the tree. It’s over two hundred years old. How would you get it out of the ground?” asked Ray.
“A cutting then, a slice, anything will do,” begged Charlie.
“Get out of here,” ordered Charlotte.
“Sh! Damn, would let me handle this?” commanded Ray to his wife.
She rolled her eyes and continued watching the exchange.
Turning back to Charlie, Ray said. “Go one, scoot. Get off my property. You can’t have the tree in any way shape or form.”
Instead of turning to go, Charlie turned in the direction of the tree and walked over to it. He reached out with one hand to touch it but held back, saying nothing.
Charlotte moved, stood next to her husband, and whispered. “Maybe we should let him touch it. That would get rid of him.”
(To Be Continued)