Sue Vincent’s latest #writephoto prompt is
Whip Willow cracked his twigs and smoothed the leaves in front of him. ‘You have such a lovely canopy, so bouffant.’ He teased out a couple of twisted stalks and added, ‘So what are we doing today?’
Marje Magnolia giggled as the soft twirling that Whip expertly applied to her crown sent a sensuous skeen of excitement through her bark and deep into her sapwood. ‘Stop it Whip. You’re a dreadful Tree-clipper. You know I’m ticklish. I thought a light prune and maybe a little Autumning?’
‘Oh get you, girl. Autumning is it?’ He shuffled back and studied his customer’s reflection in the large lake in front of where they stood. ‘Still, you have the bark for it. You’ve always been able to carry an orange and yellow palette with that foliage of yours. Maybe a tinge to the leaves here, and here.’
While he flicked his pruning shears expertly Whip glanced at his colleagues. Otto Oak used a bow saw to attack the badly maintained thatch on a Sapling, while Angie Ash wrinkled her bark into a frown. ‘Whip, Love, you got five?’
Whip stopped his clipping and asked for a moment of Marje’s time. She rustled her leaves. ‘Oh, go on then, Mr Important. Since when does a Tree not have the time to wait? I’ll just drop anchor.’
Whip joined Angie behind a quivering quercus, who Whip hadn’t seen before. She was sturdy with nice boughs and a well developed trunk.
Angie said, ‘This is Brenda Beech. She’s got a new boyfriend.’
Whip twitched in excitement, ‘Oh lovely. And who is the lucky Hunk with a Trunk?’
Angie shushed him. ‘Silly, she’s worried about her, you know.’ Angie indicated the back of Brenda’s trunk.
Whip gasped. ‘Who pollared her? They ought to be chopped up.’ He leant through Brenda’s limpid boughs and whispered into the nearest knot. ‘Darling, fear not we’ll wipe away your unsightly undergrowth in no time – they don’t call me the ‘Bush Baby’ for nothing – and you’ll soon be swooning in his branches.’
Whip wiggled his twigs and led Angie to a quiet corner of the Clipping Copse. ‘Poor thing. At least it’s misty tonight; it’ll hide the stubble. Though you might suggest, while she’s here, she gets her roots done.’