Wedding ring (short story)

 

I've never regretted making a cheap gift so much. My wife's eyes had lost their sparkle as we lived without holidays to pay the mounting school bills. My friend thought we should still get the diamond ring, but I thought, what's the point, it's there. They grew more energized, we grew more squashed, losing the corners of our lives. It was strange, maybe I'm the one who never thought of the power of jewelry.

As I walked by, I smelled the pleasant scent of people, and the trees were sending out leaves from their roots, filling in the gaps where they had failed to grow. The old dead trees easily sprouted the buds of spring. She asked, What is your name, tree of spring? The tree from a time when there were no lilacs told her she was an old willow tree, growing taller and taller, with a big piled-up roof behind it. The columns are so thick that no one can see them properly.

It's not that expensive, I realize as I put the ring on, a rhinestone ring that would put a Cartier up there with the best of them. My family made the cross and dispersed, and that's how I watch the branches grow. Even when I burn them, I see the buds growing again in a hazy vision. Behind the beautiful cottage is a field of leeks that smells of fertilizer and heady spices. 

And just like that, the man and the woman don't know how to control their feelings.