Sara C. Snider's Blog, page 20

Xanthoceras

“Xantho-what?” Widow Mayfair said from the plush red armchair in her stately parlor.

Ceras sighed. “Ceras. Xanthoceras. Everyone just calls me Ceras, though.”

The widow sniffed. “I should hope so. What were your parents thinking, giving you such a name? And for such a scrawny lad.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “A person needs to grow into a name like that. If you ever do, I’ll eat my handkerchief.” She put such a handkerchief up to her nose, peering at Ceras over frills of lace...

Witch Hazel and Willow

With introducing Hazel earlier in the H post, I thought it would be fun to continue with her as well for W. This one is more an exploration of her background and character than a story. But I enjoyed getting to know her a little bit better.

Witch Hazel and Willow

“Witches wither and warlocks weather,” Willow chanted in a melodious voice as she walked along a winding forest trail. “That’s the difference between us.”

Hazel frowned and wrinkled her nose. “That’s not much of a difference. What...

Vinegar Tree

The sharp air stung my nose and throat as I breathed. The air tasted tangy, like salt and lemon on silver. I made my way through the marsh, the damp ground soft beneath my boots. With each step in the squelching mire, the sweet-sharp tang of vinegar thickened.

Pale vines that were almost translucent in the light ran along the ground in tangled brambles. I followed them, coming to a wood-penned pasture within which a single sheep grazed.

The ewe watched my approach with dark and dewy eyes as s...

Umbrella Tree

“But I am afraid,” the little girl said.

“Why?” said the tree.

“Because the world is so very big, and I so very small.”

“We are all small when compared with the world, and one’s size does not matter when compared to the strength of one’s heart.”

“But the sun is so very hot, and the day so very bright.”

“Then sit below my branches when you are weary, and I will shade you from the sun until your strength returns.”

“But the weather is so terrible at times. What if it blows me away, and I am lost...

Twinberry Tea

The smell of baked biscuits hung in the air, scented with the tang of sharp berries. Mouse scampered around in the garden circling his great oak tree, picking a bouquet of herbs and flowers.

Owl sat up in the branches as he watched the activity below. “You needn’t fuss so over trivialities. The tea will commence regardless of whether the tables are dressed with flowers.

Mouse’s whiskers twitched as he looked up at Owl. “Everything should be proper, even you should know that.” Mouse ran to the...

Scalybark Hickory

Dim light filtered through the smoke that hung among the trees in the woods, piercing the smoggy veil in a fit of feeble rays. The air felt thick and close, dampening all sound and clinging to Camlen’s skin like a cool and sticky breath.

He walked through the woods, crushing fallen leaves and snapping twigs in careful, muted steps. The smoke grew thicker, stinging his throat as he breathed. Camlen squinted his watering eyes, peering through the haze until he finally came to a tall and looming...

Rowan and the River Walnut

Rowan flattened her wings as she perched upon a round walnut as it barreled down the river. She squinted her eyes against the spray of the water, gripping the slickened shell to keep herself from flying off.

She glanced to the side, looking for Rhys, but he was nowhere to be found. Rowan smiled. She was in the lead. She looked back ahead and cried out when a great rock loomed before her. Rowan took flight, and the little walnut bounced off the rock before sinking into the rushing water.

Laugh...

Quiver Tree

You know, I don’t really ever write poetry, so I’m not sure why I did so here, other than the fact the idea of it wouldn’t get out of my head. It’s always fun to experiment, at any rate.

Quiet on a hill,

And quiet as can be,

A mouse sits underneath,

A bowed quivering tree.

Hushed and harrowed,

The wailing wind wisps,

Around fear-stained memories,

And trembling whiskers twitch.

But dawn shines bright,

Bleeding through branches bowed,

They feed on fear,

Taking all that is allowed.

Quiet o...

Pignut

Jeff stared up at the tree and scratched his head. How a pig could manage to get up in the branches remained beyond his understanding. “Tell me again how you got up there?”

Had Quentin any fur, he might have bristled. As it was, his smooth, pink skin faintly wobbled in the light. “I told you, I flew. How else would I get up here?”

Jeff scratched his head again. “See, now, you keep saying that. But pigs don’t fly. They can’t ‘cause… you know…” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “They don’t hav...

Oldfield Birch

It is said there is an old field, where heavy mist shrouds everything in a thick, hazy gloom. Except, of course, for the birch.

The birch is old and, they say, the birch is mean.

Its wiry branches will whip in the wind and, if you get too close, will give you a good thrashing harsh enough to draw blood.

It is said that blood had long ago awakened the tree and that, having gotten a taste of it, the tree now hungers for more. They say the birch learned to call the wind, using it to whip its bra...