The death toll grew daily as did the burial mound, dominating the prairie, then requiring the removal of ageless oaks and tall, proud pines. As the dense groves receded, remaining trees turned frail, their branches soft and thin, bowing their majestic heads as if in prayer.
And the willows wept.
Mike Shields enjoys the Flash and Micro format.
Great little story, Mike. Nice imagery.
Thanks Paul.
So sad and beautifully written. ❤️
Thank you, Deborah.
Very ‘JRR Tolkien’.