| One More Warm Night |
| By Isben Clay |
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It was getting colder and we needed the firewood. We took the twigs and scraps that no one would miss. |
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'Just one more branch will do it' we told ourselves. 'There are plenty of trees left.' In reality, the small patch of trees in the backyard was shrinking at a frightening rate. |
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The winter lasted longer than we thought that year. We tried (I swear we tried) to conserve the wood as much as we could. By the time spring came, though, there was only one tree left. Just one last tree and a pile of lumber. |
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That last night of winter, we found grandpa's photographs. They showed him planting the tree with grandma, before they were even married. They showed dad and uncle Jim climbing trees. They showed them building a treehouse with the neighborhood kids. They showed the tree (and its elders) growing up along with my family. Now, the spot where that tree had grown up with its family was barren. We burned the photos that night, and the old house. Now, we are the last pieces left of our family. It only seemed fair. |
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