It all began at the tree. The war, that is. Though it didn’t seem a war-worthy event on that fateful day. It seemed like a simple choice. My choice. One I was free to make.

A lone fruit pulsed in the tree’s center like a beating heart. And it was beautiful, its colors of fire.

Ancient markings etched the length and breadth of the trunk, declaring the fruit forbidden. But I was not barred from it. I could physically reach out and touch it. Take it. Taste it.

And I did.

And nothing changed—in the garden anyway.

The cool, plush grass still cushioned my barefoot steps. The sun still caressed the skin of my arms and warmed me with the light of its gaze. But something inside me shriveled and turned. It twisted with what I now know to be fear. Shame.

I hid myself hoping to escape the reach of this new…

…sickness?

And that—the tree—is how this endless war started.

One touch. One taste.

One choice.

*This is the second story (written previously during a 10 minute prompt response session) in my Stories Along the Way series. I don’t remember the exact image for this story, except that the main subject was a tree that I’m sure had greater mystique than the one pictured.

Have you ever wondered at the stories various trees have witnessed or been touched by? Just the thought fills me with awe. 🙂 I hope you enjoy this second story. Have a blessed weekend.