The Glistening Tree

Ah, I have such fine dreams: dreams as opulent as a silver box of Venezuelan chocolates,

dreams as green as a mossy slope in spring, as sweet… as sweet as that first rain drop tumbling on my lips.

And then, the rapture of winter, the bauble tree, auburn-tinged, reaching up to the purple sky like delicate winding antennae, like venetian glass from the master, jewels from Zanzibar, a heartfelt caress from my Madagascar reverie,

And still, the tiny globes of colour, float like fireflies, sweeping up and around that glorious amethyst sparkle of sky that lavenders down.

Will it ever be, will thee?

I span the time of me,

consumptive, grasping the ephemeral beauty,

the pleasure palace of imagination,

the arc of gentility, dew-drop moments

that passed my way.

And always, the finest dreams I could conjure, marbles of colour, rolling in flight, spanning my too short life.


A glorious prompt this week, for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction challenge #25: The red tree. The image is actually called Princess Rosalie and was one of the impeccably beautiful creations of doomed Chicagoan illustrator, Virginia Frances Sterrett,  (1900–1931)