A corner nook with gravelly soil held six sister slips of chokecherry.
They grew sturdy in time, thick waisted in summer sun, through autumn’s vagaries, winter light and rejuvenating spring.

A thicket burgeoned, berried branches interlaced. For fledged sparrows, rosy finches and chickadees, a darkened refuge from the family cat.

Deborah lives and writes in Northwestern Montana. Her stories can be read in The Ekphrastic Review, Thin Air Magazine Online and 50-Word Stories.