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Rustle

August 3, 2006

A quiet rustle of leaves reached into his pocket and took out a dollar. It was a simple theft, not soon discovered, if ever. It could feed her and nourish her wooded home. She could plant some flowers. Oh, but she would enchant a black-capped chickadee to carry her to market, and she would find her true love nestled amongst the parsley. It had been foretold. Lost in the glow of that vision, she didn’t notice the wind carrying the dollar away into the forest of barren trees.

by Daniel Ribar

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  1. August 3, 2006 at 10:55 pm | #1

    This strange story has stayed with me since I first read it, Daniel. Intriguing, odd, with a kind of fairy-tale quality in a modern setting. Great to have your work here.

  2. August 4, 2006 at 1:41 pm | #2

    Between the rustle of leaves and the barren woods, it does seem as if some kind of illicit transaction takes place each summer and fall. A lot of people look at trees and see money; it takes a real gift to look at money and see a forest. Thanks.

  3. August 6, 2006 at 8:35 am | #3

    (o)

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