"Think of a favorite tree, living or gone. Begin writing with a close description of the tree, even if you have to make up the details. Let something happen around the tree." (like a mini story)
In addition, include at least one synechdoche to your writing. To practice further with Zeugma, try to include one type you did not use in last week's piece. Have fun!
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It was a bright and breezy morning. The wind rustled leaves all over the valley. Trees of different kinds- some stood higher and mightier than others- aligned along a quiet and peaceful stream. Under a tall, and bent-down bamboo tree-with its golden skin glowing with the sunlight-Desire and Contentment sat, contemplated on themselves, and tried to figure out the reasons of their existence.
As the sun continued to rise up to the center of a cloudless sky, Desire broke the tranquility of the morning.
"What makes you feel contented? He asked. “How come you are already satisfied with your life, with the same mornings-same sun, same sky."
"Every time you achieve what you desire, I feel contented." Contentment replied.
"But I keep on asking for more the moment I reach my goal,. Whenever I succeed, I always aim higher. "
"I know that my friend. And I am very patient. I can wait."
"You will wait for what? You are waiting for nothing; I will never stop wanting."
"I believe that one day, you would stop and realize what you have already gained, everyone has their limit- and you will also reach yours."
Desire kept quiet for a while. Then, He stood up and looked at the bamboo tree behind them.
“I like bamboos,” he suddenly said, while feeling the bamboo’s smooth surface. "Hey, Contentment, have you ever felt Happiness?"
"If happiness is finding ones purpose, then I haven’t," he answered.
"Am I capable of being happy? Could I make you happy?"
"Listen. Since the beginning of time, you’ve already been searching for happiness without even knowing it; the moment that you, Desire, achieve Contentment then I would be able to taste Happiness."
"What do you mean? I tend to long for power when I posses wealth. I want more wealth because I have more power, and more power requires more wealth- it is a never-ending cycle, really."
"Have you heard of the Tree of all Trees?” Contentment asked.
“ No, I haven’t,” he replied
“In the time of our ancestors, there was a Sacred Tree called ‘The Tree of All Trees.’ A single tree that represented all the trees all over the world. All kinds of fruits bloomed in its braches. It possessed all the traits of other trees. One day the tree asked the Creator for the reason why he was granted with such a blessing. The Creator told the tree that it was because it had a loving heart. A heart that is more than willing to give and share the glories of the Creator. The Sacred Tree bestowed onto others everything he had- he gave shelter to the cold and weary travelers and offered them woods to make fire. It held down its braches so that hungry pilgrims and merchants who passed by it can easily harvest and feed its produce. It nested birds of different types. And its beauty is more than enough to attract everyone and everything near it. The tree had it all; everyone near it also had it all.”
“Thank you, I think I now know what you mean.” Like the bamboo, I have to continue growing but I also have to keep my head down. I must aim higher but I have to remember that no matter how high I have reached, there is still a part of the that attaches to the ground.”
“If that is how you want to put it. Then be like a bamboo.”
"I have one last question for you my friend, If I- Desire- achieve Contentment, then what should I call you?”
“ Call me Happiness.”
“Plwese, don’t cut down my ‘Robin’ down, plwese. . .” I cried, and still remember it as if it happened yesterday.
It was a fine day; when my dad bought a grape vine plant and decided to plant it in front yard. It was so cute to look at the little grape vine plant; I decided to name the little one “Robin” after the bird.
As the time had passed, the plant grew and grew to branch over and bear some of delicious grapes. I used to sit under the tree and eat those grapes. Sometimes, I used play hide, and seek with my friends. I was always the winner.
We were inseparable. At times, I used to break the branches to make the wooden tiara. “Robin” wouldn’t say anything; it was like the book, “giving tree” because my tree gave everything and wouldn’t say anything.
Until one day, my tree became strange, withered some of the leaves, and became sick. My heart cried and all my friends cried too.
My tree died later and my dad ordered someone to cut down the tree. I cried and whined not to cut “Robin” down. It was so horrible to watch piece by piece; it was as if my arms and legs torn apart.
I cried and cried for several days whenever I passed where “Robin” stood. From that day on, I promised myself I wouldn’t love any tree, but my grape vine, “Robin.”
-244 words.
Hanging from a Tree
“Who can climb the highest?” asked one of our friends as we were climbing on the big Osier tree of my grand parents’ old house. We always played around it. It was our roof when it was raining, our shelter in the hot sunny days, and our playhouse.
Its trunk was big and low enough for us, five year old kids, to climb on. The big brunches were separating from each other just above the trunk, giving it the shape of a basket. Full of leaves brunches were down towards the ground making a shadowy green room.
“I am the highest now” I said continuing my journey up.
“No, not yet,” said the friend who was on the lower brunch. I kept going up and up asking them if I was high enough until the brunch I was on became thin and unstable.
In a flip of a second everything changed. It went round and round. One moment I was on the brunch, the next I was hanging to it. I did not know what happened, what saved me was my hard hold of the brunch. I looked down, it was very high, and the ground was moving to the left and to the right. I screamed hard.
My hands were not strong enough to hold on to the brunch for long enough. I was loosing it. Fortunately, we had guests. The guy came to ask my aunt’s hand on that day. Hearing me screaming, the adults run bare feet to the tree. The brunches hide me from view, so the adults were disoriented.
“Hold on!” the guy said when he saw me.
In a few seconds he was up and saved me. “You are good eyes!” my grandma complimented him.
I was trembling. They took me to the house, and our play was over. Forever. The war started in a few weeks, and we left the city. I heard later the tree was burned in a battle.
332 words
Tree
Carpenter Jiang promised himself to make an excellent coffin for himself after making the hundredth coffin for his customer. There was a huge elm in his yard planted by his grandfather. The stem was straight and thick. The tree bark was oily bright like being painted.
“I can make it the best coffin,” he often told his newly married wife, “Lord Wang offered me five hundred silver Yuan for this tree but I didn’t sell him. He won’t have such good coffin after he dies even he is richest guy in the town.”
Jiang’s wife beamed on him proudly, “This is a wonderful tree.” She collected the fresh leaves and flowers during the spring and blended them with the flour. The honey in the dough smelled sweet after steaming. Winter came, they embraced their son named Yu-sheen Jiang which means the son was born under the elm.
Year 1937, Japanese came. Many people died, but their business dived. Most of their neighbours run away to the south of China. There were died bodies everywhere and no one was bothered to have a coffin. Liang never got a single order after he finished his 82nd coffin. He coughed badly. In the beginning, he thought he just caught some cold until he started puking blood.
He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t breathe. They went to see the doctor and found it was phthisis.
They sold everything to buy him medicines until they were left only the elm. But his coughing wasn’t improved at all.
“Let’s sell it, the elm.” Jiang’s wife cried helplessly.
“No!” carpenter Jiang refused, followed by terribly coughing and choking.
“You want to make it a coffin still?” Liang’s wife asked tentatively.
“No,” Jiang shook his head slowly. “You keep it after I die. It would be too cheap if we sell it now. Japanese will leave. People will come back after the war. Our son is too young. . . .” he paused, gripping his wife’s hand, the tears drooped from his hollow eyes. “ It will be very tough for you to raise our son along. . . .”
“No, you’ll be fine! You will recover soon. . . .” Liang’s wife wailed.
“Listen to me, kow, kow kow. . . Pick our son a good wife.” He stroked her hair and smiled, “Pick someone like you. You’ll need money for bride-price. Sell the tree when our son is ready to get married. . . . Burry me in the yard, so I’d be with you together. . . kow, kow, kow.” He coughed again and suddenly spitted out a huge amount of blood. The blood dropped on the sheet and made some scarlet blossoms. “After Yu-sheen grows up, he could buy us a nice tomb and burry you and me together after you die. I will compensate you in our next life. . . .”
Liang’s wife cleaned his body, covered him some decent clothes and wiped her own tears. She buried her husband under the elm tree. She felt he was still there, waiting for her in an unknown world.
Eight years passed; Japanese was defeated. Then it was civil war. Yu-sheen was often chained to the elm tree and played with himself when his mother was out with her makeup and high heels. He learnt catching bugs and climbing the elm now.
Year 1949, Yu-sheen was 12 years old now. He was tall and strong—differed from most terribly skinny Chinese, he never experienced starvation.
“What’s your name?” People asked him.
“Yu-sheen.” He heehawed , dribbling all the time.
“How old are you?” people asked again.
“Yu-sheen, hei hei.”
“Are you an idiot?”
“Yu-sheen.”
“Idiot.” Soon enough, people were tired of those questions. “Do you know your mom is a whore?”
Yu-sheen confused, he didn't understand what means “a whore”.
“A whore means a beautiful lady.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes, beautiful. Your mom is a whore.”
Yu-sheen remembered. He came home and looked his mom seriously, said. “Mom, you are a whore.”
“Bang!” the glass dropped from Jiang’s wife’s hand. Her face turned paler than paper.
Year 1966, a women stood in the middle of the crowed. Her hair was shaved bald half side. Her eyes were punched into black. Her lips were puffy and bleeding. A piece of board hung on her neck and painted in red—“WHORE”.
“Tell us did you sleep with the Japanese.”
“Yes, I did. I was a whore.”
“How many of them? Tell us in details, you shameless bitch.”
“I, I don’t remember.” She choked.
“How dare you have this attitude!” A man kicked on her chest.
“Beat her! Take her clothes off!” the crowed were excited, “Her son was a Japanese bastard too!”
“No, he is not!” Jiang’s wife was frightened, “His father was a carpenter Jiang. He made coffins. My son was born in the year 1937.”
“Great, that’s the year Japanese invaded China. You are telling lies!” A fat woman jumped out and started tearing her face, pulling her clothes off and pinched her. “You never had a husband, you slut! You are a whore and your son is a Japanese bastard!”
“No, I’m not lying. My husband died of phthisis. I buried his body in my yard under the elm.”
“Show us, where? Guys, Let’s go to this bitch’s yard and see how she makes up her lies.”
The crowed followed Yu-sheen’s mom to their yard. She walked, bowing her head to her chest like a ball. People kicked her butt and laughed whenever she staggered. She pointed the ground under the elm and said, “Here, I buried my husband right here.”
“Mom!” Yu-sheen came out form the house, “Are you playing with them, why you look so different?”
“Yes, your mom is sleeping with us.” People jeered. Yu-sheen found everybody was laughing , he giggled too. He was almost thirty now, but nothing was improved.
Somebody found a shovel and threw it to Yu-sheen’s mom. “Dig, show us you told the truth.”
“No, I cannot. Not the timing yet. . . .” she begged.
“Bind the bastard on the damn tree!” Someone ordered. Yu-sheen’s size might be intimidating.
“Oh, mom, they are hurting me. This is not funny.” Yu-sheen flounced.
The bones were dug out from the mud: the rips, the legs, the arms, and the skull.
“She didn’t lie.” People grunted, lost their interests. “Let’s go.”
“Even you had a husband, you still slept with the Japanese. You betrayed your country and your people. This is not finished yet.” The fat woman spat to Yu-sheen’s mom on her face.
People left, stepped on the bones. Someone kicked the skull.
Yu-sheen’s mom collected the bones. She kissed the skull, put them into a bag and hung it on Yu-sheen’s neck. She washed her face carefully and changed the clothes—her bride’s dress which was cherished by her for thirty years. She shaved the rest of here hair became totally bald now.
Holding her son’s hand, she pulled him to the elm tree. The elm tree was still lush: the trunk was huge, the crown was fully covered by fresh leaves and white flowers. She remembered her wedding day; carpenter Jiang kissed her the first time under this tree. The sun reflected their shadows on the ground like a part of the elm. She hung the ropes on the two thickest branches, tested them and found they were reliable enough. She thought lives were too fragile, never be strong like this elm.
“Son, do you like to play a game with mom?” she asked Yu-sheen.
“I love playing games. Which game?” Yu-sheen clapped his hand.
“We are going to see you dad.” Yu-sheen’s mom answered gently, circling a rope on her son’s neck. She placed a chair in front of Yu-sheen, “You stand on the chair and jump after I count three. If you are brave enough to do it?”
“So we can see dad? If my dad will play with me?”
“Yes, my brave son, I’m sure he will.”
“Great! Let’s jump!”
“You have to wait for me to count three okay?” Yu-sheen’s mom stepped onto the chair in front her with the rope circling her neck and counted, “One, Two, Three. . . .”
1370 words first draft
As a child growing up, although I was mainly raised by my biological mom, my Aunt was also a big part of my life. While my mom remained the steadfast figure she was supposed to be, I could always count on Aunt Susan for the growth of my imagination. She would always take me for walks through the woods with her dog Sandy. During those long adventures she would tell me stories about numerous things. She would point out specific things in the forest and what they were to the 'Magical world'. Sure, it sounds silly. But for a child growing up it was completely bewildering.
The wild oaks were home to the tree nymphs. She would say how sometimes you could see hundreds of little bodies jumping around while they bumped heads dancing. I would always giggle at the thought. Whenever Sandy would run towards something that we couldn't see my aunt would always say,
"There goes my little angel, trying to chase those poor goblins!".
Being so impressionable I become so mesmerized in this world that my aunt had created for me. It become real to me, and at times I found myself actually seeing the wonderful things she would entrance me with. Especially when it came to what we called the "Willow of Wonders".
The end of all our long walks with Sandy always ended at this same point. Standing in awe over the glory of this sturdy old tree. It stood a good eighty or so feet, with long green leaves draping down like curtains. A perfect blanket of shade was always laid to rest below it. This was where we would always lay down a small cream colored blanket to take our rest. My aunt would tell me that cream was the only color that would attract the folk that lived here. The Fairies. I think about it now and simply laugh at the thought. But in those years of my life. It all felt so real. I remember sitting on the blanket with Sandy at my side, eating little pieces of apple. Always waiting and hoping that I would catch a glimpse of the winged creatures. Aunt Susan would always do something to make me believe more, like jump up really fast and point somewhere. It always got me going.
Sitting under the tree was like such perfect peace. Seeing the long, thin, green branches swaying with the wind. The sound of the breeze blowing through the forest creating a wonderful melody. I remember carving my initials into the bark of the tree as well. My aunt had told me too one day, so that the tree would never forget the company we gave too it. The bark of the willow was rough, but with a lot of moisture as well. I remember holding it one day, like a bear would hold its cub. I felt such calm around this willow tree. I understood why my aunt called it the "Willow of Wonders".
It stood proud and tall in the forest surrounding it. A presence of royalty. Being so old it had claimed its space in that beautiful woodland. What a fitting home for the land of the fairies I always told myself. Up high in the beautiful lime toned leaves drooping and swaying with the cool air. I'll never forget the world my Aunt showed to me.
A weeping willow stood nearby an old well at the corner of the vegetable yard. The willow liked a giant high above the wall, and the struck was hardly hugged by an adult. The bark showed us her age was old, but the green canopy told everyone her still young. The wickers were thick, long, and drooping almost to touch the ground.
In the summer holiday, I often went to this yard to visit Tom. Tom’s father was a farmer; he is the best friend and close playmate in my childhood.
After watering the vegetables, there was nothing for him. So we had much time to play and talk. Weaving the willow wickers to be helmet and fighting with the branches as the ancient knights was the thing we most liked. But today was too hot to do that.
At high noon, the sun was so hot and made the ground to be a burning pan. Lying on a straw mat under the willow shade was the best choice. We stretched our limbs, stared at the blue sky, and listen to the cicadas' shouting. Their long notes seemed to never have a pause. It was really an excellent hypnotism for us. Laying still and taking a nap would be the desire welling up from the bottoms our minds.
Words: 218
Swing in my backyard tree
It stood right in the middle of my back yard, tall and leafy. The branches were spreading
in every direction. The mangos in it were either ripe or half ripe, depending on the season. I would sit in the shade when tired after running everywhere and sometimes play with my friends.
My favorite play was the swing. We all would find a strong rope—at least we thought it was—and tied it on the strongest and highest branch and then take turns on it.
One day, we were so hyper that we would not stop even if some one say her head is spinning.
“Why don’t you sit?” my friend asked. “We’ve all taken our turns except you.”
“Yeah, I don’t like the way this game’s going today,” I said. “So I’ll push everybody. But I don’t want to be pushed.”
“Good then,” my friend’s sister said. “Out of my way, chicken. It’s my turn again”
“Whatever,” I snapped. That was why I didn’t want to invite her if her sister hadn’t persuaded me to.
She pushed me out of the way and sat on the swing, a pair of eyes rolling at me. Two hands pushed her from behind and two in the front. We swung the swing so hard that my other friend and I had to jump out of the way.
“Stop! It’s moving so fast!” she shouted. We did stop, but it was too late. The swing was flying, two skinny legs swinging crazily.
“Aaahhh!” she screamed and at the same time the rope broke loose, sending her flying across the yard. She felt on her seater on the hard ground.
“Ouch” she said.
I bit my lips while fighting the urge to laugh. Two angry eyes glared at us.
“I told you guys to stop,” she cried. “It’s y’all fault.”
“Hey,” I said. “We didn’t force your butt on that rope. Did we?”
She ignored me, got up and headed toward her roof.
“Come back tomorrow,” I said, laughing. I stared at the branch which the rope has broken off. Thank God, my branch didn’t break.
357 words
After the break, the students came back their seats. Next was drawing class. Seventeen- year-old girl Bei took the sketchbook out from her backpack and placed it on the table. Suddenly, somebody patted her shoulder.
“What is up?” she turned around looking at her classmate, also the best friend Pan who sit behind her.
“I heard we would have a new teacher for drawing class.” Pan said.
“Really?” Bei asked in surprise.
“Yeah.” Pan nodded. “That old, annoying fatty is gone finally.”
“Perhaps the new one is the same.” Bei laughed and turned her head back.
The door opened and a young man came in with several paper in his hand. He was good- looking and had a perfect body. Standing in the front of the classroom, he began to introduce himself. “Hi, my name is Wang hang. Your new teacher for drawing class.” His also had a good voice.
Pan softly pulled Bei’s hair. Bei turned around again and blinked her eyes towards Yu’s smile face.
Teacher Wang was gifted and very kind to every student. Plus , he was handsome. So, not very long, drawing class was the favorite class. Many girls in the class liked to talk with him. Some of them asked for his painting. But, Bei seldom did so.
She always went to school early, and sit under an old oak tree, which was the oldest tree in the school, strong trunk and flourished leaves. Bei liked this tree. Sitting there made her feel safe and comfortable. The oak tree just stood beside the playing field. Every early morning, Bei sit there, and watched her teacher doing exercise. He was good at sports. He jogged first, and then played soccer with others teachers and students. Bei watched and enjoyed. The occasional glance at her from the teacher made her heartbeat faster. This kind of feeling she had never had. She admitted she liked him. Who didn’t? Was it love? She couldn’t tell.
Time flied. One year has passed since he taught her, and the students would leave the school and go to college. In the last drawing class, the teacher let the students draw a picture – your favorite. Bei held her pencil, thought a while, then drew an old oak tree.
I am alone
It was a mango tree in middle of my village, most happy place in the village. A huge and tall tree that tree’s branches loaded with green shiny leaves. Specially sweet and ripe mango I can not forget forever.
In the summer old and young people love to sit around the tree. Kids loved to playing, running, laughing and climbing on the tree. Old people enjoyed to play card and talk with each other. Out side of the house shadow of the tree was the best place for meeting. The Shadow of tree was like an assembly hall in the village. In the roots of the tree there was a stage that using as a meeting place. The trunk of the tree was covered the name of the lovers-young people love to engrave their name on the thick and brown trunk. When air blew leave start murmur like, they are talking with each other. The vendor always came in village he always stopped near the tree. Then woman came to out over there for shopping.
One full moon nights every one heard a loud and sharp noise all people came out side from there houses it was terrible seen our under the tree. A car hit the tree. People were screaming g trying to take out people from car. But two man were sitting in the car they were died. People were suspicious. They believe bad spirit stayed on the tree.
Since from that day, I never saw children, meeting, and vendor. I just saw tree alone and trying to say everyone it was not my fault they were drunk.
Words
The leafy tree near my aunt’s house is an ordinary tree. The green, translucent leafs were dancing in the spring breeze. It is May; I said to myself, each spring is the new lives of my worms. Every leaf is designed with a rim which looks like a steering gears with each track perfectly designed for each bit of my worm. My worm didn’t bit a hole in the middle of the leaf like the others, they crawled to the edge and start biting on each track of the steering gear and finished the whole piece in the center. This worm was my favourite pet; they are the kind that makes the silk. I pet it in my hands, feeling the eight legs crawling around my finger and palm. I kissed it feeling the soft skin rubbing my lips. I put them under the light, looking at the translucent color that is just like the white silk. I took them out on a field trip in my pencil box to the school. This mulberry trees was the life and source of food for my worms, I love it so much. Every time when I look at mulberry trees, my heart is pumping with excitement and memory of my childhood.
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