Jenny stared at the tree on the hill. It was a half mile from the house, but she could walk it in ten minutes when she needed to, and lately she’d been feeling the need often. It was the place she felt safest, sitting under that tree. Whether the sun shined, or the rain poured, she felt comfort there.
That tree stood like a beacon, always calling to her.
In their youth, one day when they were having a picnic at the top of the hill, Jared asked her to marry him. From their lunch spot they could see the village in the distance, and they could hear the water babbling as it flowed downstream from the creek on the other side. Jared used to love to chase the sheep that came over the hill from old Lenny’s place.
Sometimes, when times were tough, she used to walk to the top of that hill and look over to see the church in town. She’d listen for the bells and could feel God close to her then. She just knew they would be able to pay that next bill, to teach their son, Jesse, to stop fighting, and to get past all the tears when her parents passed.
Jared had made a little stone circle for her to sit in. He said she could say her prayers there, and she did. She prayed, she cried, and she screamed from the top of that hill; but it had become her resting place.
And now it was his. Jared’s. Jared was the tree. God bless that tree that sat in a small stone circle.
Dawn Marie Paul Art & Books 