Is Under The Oak Tree Finished Novels & Stories

The accumulation of fifteen years of being together had made the arrangement more fully itself, not less. They stood under the oak. The June light came through the full canopy in the specific quality of the filtered summer light — green and warm and particular. The oak's trunk was wide — wider than Ernest could reach around, wider than two people could reach around together. The bark was rough, the texture of the old oak, the specific pattern of ridges and crevices that had formed over decades. The roots spread out from the base, some of them visible above the ground, the evidence of the tree's underground life.

Old Oak wood does not burn like normal wood. In Wolf Creek, when a tree dies, you cut it and it burns orange and warm and it smells like smoke and it keeps you alive in winter. Old Oak wood, Baba said, burns black and cold. It does not give heat. It takes light. It takes life from Whites because Old Oak was where first White was made, so fire made from its dead body knows how to unmake White. That is what second wave brought.

I said in objection. “Your hands are ice cold,” he stated, creating friction. With pursed lips, I let him do what he wanted to do and gazed into the pouring rain. There were three oak trees in front of the house, thick moss-covered the tree trunk, and the branches were scarce of leaves. Dark clouds covered the horizon, and flickers of distant lightning sliced through the skyline. One, two, three lightning caressed the sky, and then a powerful gust of wind swept by the same time Paul lifted my hands to his mouth, blowing warm breath on it.

BENJI LEANED THE SHOVEL up against the tree and dragged the back of his hand across his brow. The landscaping they'd been cultivating was paying off, but that had a few unfortunate results. Namely, more brides wanted their ceremony outdoors with the ancient oaks overhead. The screen of sunflowers planted along the property line helped since the neighbor's old eyesore of a barn wasn't visible.

The basket was getting heavy, filled with the apples we'd selected carefully, when Miles suddenly grabbed my hand. "Come here. I want to show you something." He led me off the main path, down a narrower trail between two rows of trees, and then we emerged into a small clearing I hadn't noticed before. In the center was a massive oak tree, probably a hundred years old, its branches spreading wide enough to create a canopy overhead. There was a simple bench built under it with its floor stem.

I am not worried about getting lost, I know the place like the back of my hand. When I reach the forest, I take in a deep breath and let it out before continuing to walk. It does not take me very long to reach the giant oak tree. It even has my initials that I carved into it the first time I ran here to get away from everyone and everything. The almost full moon sits in the sky and gives the night an eerie feel. I sit right under the tree with my back laid against the trunk. The ground is dirty but I gladly rest my legs on it.

I stood up and went to the sink to rinse my cup before putting it away. I went out through the back door that led to my back yard.The view was spectacular. My cottage was perched at the top of a very high hill, and my back yard gave me a breathtaking view of the whole vast forest filled land. Rooted deeply on the edge of the cliff was an ancient oak tree that towered high, over thirty feet and leaning over like it was going to topple but it stood strong. A naturally made hole was embedded into the tree where I could reach it easily.

The oak tree, under which they would say their vows, stood tall and majestic, its branches providing a natural canopy that seemed to embrace the love that would be declared beneath it. As she and Ethan worked side by side to finalize the preparations, Claire couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at how everything had fallen into place. The past few months had been a whirlwind—so much had changed, and yet, it all felt perfectly right. She had found her way back to the man she loved, to the town that had shaped her, and to the life she had always dreamed of.

I go until I’m far above the ground, far enough that looking straight down leaves me feeling dizzy. Don’t look down, don’t look down. I tell myself and look straight ahead. I’ve wrapped my arms around the tree trunk and I’m gripping tight. It’s some kind of oak tree, with large wide branches and a sturdy trunk. It’s thick with leaves in midsummer and they rustle gently in the light wind. Below is the hard baked ground and a little way away, the pool that comes down from the waterfall before the river rushes away through the forest.

Paul’s and Zephyr’s. Arthur went silent after my remark and must’ve been thinking hard as he bumped into the back of my legs. We had arrived at our destination. “A tree?” Yup, and not just any tree. It was mine, Elizabeth’s, and Kevin’s tree. The great oak stood high and proud amongst its fellow trees, but its age gave it a leg up among the rest. Its aged texture made its bark pronunciate the markings we had left so long ago. It was our tree. I was sure of it.