The Trees (I)

That night, in a dream the trees came for me. Like the ones in the Scottish play, they advanced on my window, and, there being no glass that day, simply climbed through into my house. 

A ghostly rustle of antique silk and a dank smell of river grass hovered, yet as calmly as I could, I tried to ask them how much sugar they wanted in their tea. 

We want most of the sugar you don’t have. The trees looked in my pockets and found a coin or two, some fluff and… 

….. a golden grin of sugar. 
…  …  …

They left for a winter’s stroll along the river. Don’t wait up, they chorused, But we’ll be back.


About The Mollusc Dimension

Multidisciplinary Experimental Artist, Songwriter, Composer, Performer, Visual Artist, Animator, Writer of Lyrics, Poems and Short Stories, Teacher. This is a place for writing and research with links to other projects.
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