When Getting Your Roots Done Is Just A Protest #writephoto

Whip Willow and Twigs Birch stood, aghast. Twigs spoke first. ‘Did you know?’

Whip shook convulsively. ‘Just there was this old lady who needed her roots doing. Nothing like this.’

‘She doesn’t need a prune, she needs a digger. How can she manage with them so… so…’

‘Exposed?’

‘Extraneous. And whose roots are those? That old fella. He’s not even the same species. Oak and Ash. Have you ever done a male’s roots.’

‘Darling, you know I haven’t. Who called us in?’

‘Oh one of those Second Age Sylvanians. Apparently Ash, she’s the old lady has been moaning at night and the warden was worried about her roots…’

‘Well quite.’

‘Thought she might have a fall and at her age…’

‘Could be fatal…’

‘Exactly. But I think that stupid beech on reception…’

‘That’s not nice, Whip. I know there’s a bit of negativity about her…’

‘Beech, Darling, I said beech.’

‘Oh sorry.’

‘That’s alright. Rowan isn’t it? I think Rowan misunderstood about the roots, thought she wanted us to frimp her foliage…’

‘You do frimp beautifully.’

‘Thank you sweetness. So the Tonsorial Tree Tweakers are dispatched in error.’

‘We ought to do something. Cover her up a little. I mean it’s really rather unseemly. At her age, don’t you think?’

Whip nodded and shuffled forward. ‘Hallo? Ash is it? How are you?’

The old lady groaned, twisting left and right. ‘Just a mo, lovely. I need to try and loosen some of these knots. Terrible they are.’ An almighty crack and her canopy quivered briefly. ‘There. How can I help?’

Whip tried to avert his eyes from the show of stems and stalks that curled by his trunk. ‘We, that’s Twigs and me, wondered if you needed a hand. A bit of cover, you know.’

Ash’s crown tilted forward. ‘Upset you, do they? They’re natural, you know. Even you have roots.’

Whip shuffled self-consciously burying himself a little further into the loamy earth.

‘Thing is Whip, me and the Bl’oak here are a mite fed up with all those saplings hustling us for space, saying there’s room for another one. We’ve been here a long time. You can’t live in overcrowded conditions and thrive. It ain’t natural. So we decided to pull up our roots and show them just how much space we need. And if they don’t like a flash of the fleshy bits, well they can go and plant themselves somewhere else. It’s a protest movement we’re starting.’

Whip tugged at Twigs trunk, easing her away. ‘I think we should go.’

‘They’ve got a point, you know.’

‘Maybe but I’m a tree dresser, not an arboreal anarchist. What say you we get ourselves a sappuchino and see what’s next?’

This is written in response to the latest prompt from Sue Vincent’s #writephoto stable

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.

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