And now, a story in four little sentences:

A ring of gnarled oaks encircled an ancient house on a lonely hillside. Their tangled arms clawed the sky in supplication to the night, begging her to stay, to keep them hidden from the blinding brightness of the day. But when at last Dawn broke over the horizon, their leafy robes burst into flames, and they rained droplets of fire as the morning star watched from on high.

Afterward, when the sun had adjourned its heavenly travels and night fell once more, the trees wept in their lover’s cold embrace and wondered why, when the air turned crisp, she always let them burn.

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