With each dawn he’d leave her; until his return at dusk she would watch for him. Pining.
Her branches ached for his firm white body, the ‘come to bed’ headlights, the deep, thick tread of his Michelin radials. She longed to get closer, but he remained agonisingly distant: her trunk too stiff to bend and reach out. To touch him was her dream.
Then came the wind.
Her roots were ripped from the soil; life was flowing from her, but she didn’t care – they were together: locked in a blissful embrace until the tow truck stole her love away.
This is my entry into this weeks 100 word challenge over at Friday Fictioneers.