This story was based on reedsyprompts-- https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/ -- a site where you get weekly writing prompts and submit short stories for a weekly prize. Lack of inspiration or ideas is not an issue for me, but having that tiny bit of structure in a deadline is helpful 😉. Since they do not ask for exclusive rights to the stories, I will post any I write here, as well.[-update- I haven't been using the site, if it is still there, maybe I should start again?]
The first I've done was taken from the prompt: "Write a story about another day in a heatwave." We recently had likely our hottest spell of the year here in West Central Alberta, but in the big picture it was short and not that serious. However, I did live for years in Toronto, where summer heat is much longer and more intense. This story draws on that time, and obviously thoughts of climate change and where we are headed. Thoughts on the tree that gives its name to the story are below the story. Love to hear your comments!
Tree of Heaven
I used to love summer, back in the days when it was normal. Well, whatever normal ever was, but you know what I mean- before the world was burning, drowning, blowing away. After a long, cold, but ordinary, winter we could look forward to a fresh spring and a good summer of long sunny days and inviting nights. Sure, to be fair, I was young- days were for bike rides on the river trails and nights were out on the streets and in nightclubs. I drank hot coffee in air conditioned cafes and carried a sweater for icy cinemas. Gardens drying up in summer droughts and bedrooms too hot for sleeping weren’t on my mind.
It’s different now. Winter average temperatures
are up, but come with ice storms, blizzards and late cold snaps, so it doesn’t always
feel like it. Spring brings a rapid melt and flooding, then, all of a sudden
it’s too hot. Grass is brown by early summer and even native trees are dying.
They say we’re heading for a savannah here, where there used to be forest. It
never rains in summer anymore, unless there’s a major storm, which takes out
even more trees, leaving us more exposed to the oppressive sun. I dream of cool
earth mound houses and thick adobe walls, as I sweat restlessly on my sticky
sheets.
I brew my morning coffee the night before so
I can chill it in the fridge overnight. In the morning I drink it with fruit
and a bagel, then hurry out to do errands before the sun is overhead. The early
start doesn’t help much. It feels like the pavement barely cools overnight- I’m
already sweating as I return with my two small shopping bags, and it is only
mid-morning.
My path cuts through a small park in a ravine
that winds through the city. Trails continue in either direction, but there is
a neglected picnic area here, next to a dwindled and stagnant stream, with the
busy road passing above. Some locals have complained for years about drug deals
and other unsavoury night activities happening among the trees, but all I am
thinking of is shade. I set my bags on a crooked picnic table I deliberately
don’t look too closely at, nor do I really want to know what may be on the
ground in the bushes. Gratefully I sit for a few minutes on the grubby bench in
the dank cool of the overgrown trees. I marvel that they have somehow survived
the ravages of recent years- apart from a few gaps caused by ice storms- sheltered
in the ravine, sustained by the tiny watercourse. Even though it hasn’t rained
for weeks, down here the weedy grass is still green, and a few wildflowers
cling to the slopes and line the streambanks. The air is rich with the scent of
foliage, wood rotting back into the moist soil, green water and black mud.
As I pick up my bags and resume the walk
homeward, up and out of the ravine, I indulge in a fantasy of getting on a bike
and following the trail out of the city, past the suffocating jumble of
suburban outlet malls, past the industrial warehouses and equipment yards, safe
in a sheltering green ribbon of trees and water and earth. On and on I ride,
past farm fields, small towns, through cottage country and on into the pure,
clean, cool, boreal forest...
I reach the top of the ravine and the heat
and mechanical smell of the street hits me again. My fantasy dissolves- I don’t
even know how far this tiny stream travels, but if I could ride all the way to
the northern forests, I suppose I’d find them hot, beetle infested, drought
stricken, burning.
Just where the last half-green ravine foliage
ends at the sidewalk’s edge, I notice several small seedling Trees of Heaven.
They stand vibrant and vigorous above the summer crisped plants around them.
It’s an invasive exotic tree species, but today it gives me a little hope- if
they can survive barren empty lots, chemical drenched roadsides, and cracks in
pavement, maybe they can survive the harsh shifts in climate. Perhaps when the
native maples, beech, oaks and others have dried up or succumbed to storms,
these hardy street-wise interlopers will remain to give the city some respite
from the sun. I walk the last blocks homeward with a smile.
My smile fades as I enter the hot, still
apartment. I’d wanted to paint today, but have a hard time summoning the
energy. The heat weighs not only on my body, but on my mind, my spirit. I feel
it as a vast presence sitting over the middle of the continent, the colour of
killed grass with the scent of car exhaust, the texture of wet cloth, tinting
the air, pooling in lungs, obstructing pores.
Brewing another coffee and putting it in the
freezer to chill rapidly, I put on some music for inspiration- the gentle and
haunting words and tones of an Iranian and a Syrian, expats living away from
their ancient homelands. I dance slowly to the sinuous music, thinking- these
cultures have dealt with heat and reached great heights, what secrets can they
teach us? I feel my body moving through the deep cool architecture and shaded
courtyards scented with jasmine, desert night rooftops. My arms, hips,
shoulders swaying and twisting like whispers of winding sand, swirling fountain
waters, rustling billows of fabric.
I drink my coffee sitting in the bathtub,
snacking on peanuts and dates, with a bare trickle of cool water on my back,
allowing the images of the day to float through my mind, finding their own
shapes and patterns.
I dry myself and dress in a light cotton shirt
and shorts, my skin feeling only the soft fabric, not the already returning
stickiness. Positioning my largest fan by the easel, I begin to draw. The
painting will take several days, but I see it in my mind now- small square
buildings on two sides enclose a garden, walled in front with a riot of green
vegetation, vines and flowers spilling over. Towering over everything, several
large Trees of Heaven shade the block, holding out blazing sun and brown smoggy
sky above.
story by Cohan Fulford, August 07, 2020
https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/cohan-fulford/
About:
Tree of Heaven / Ailanthus altissima, according to Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ailanthus_altissima is a tree species native to China and Taiwan, and Korea, where it is grown for medicinal uses, and as a silkmoth host. It was introduced to North American in the late 1700's as a garden plant, and was used widely as a street tree in the 19th century. It has since become invasive in many areas, self seeding vigorously in many kinds of sites, growing rapidly, and releasing chemicals in the soil that inhibit competition. Interestingly, it appears in the fossil record in North America, but presumably natural control mechanisms faded away as the tree disappeared. Nonetheless, it is a rather attractive tree, and in urban environments, especially, we may need to take a different view of plants- rather than simply longing for a lost past of biological 'purity' we may at times need to embrace plants which fulfill important ecological niches, whatever their origins.... I'm not saying we should surrender our cities to this tree (and I'm not current on specific thoughts on this species), just posing the thought that in a time of climate change, we may need to look for species that work, not just those we'd prefer.....
Always like to hear your thoughts, here or you can find me on
(see this post for musings on support sites: https://cohanmagazine.blogspot.com/2021/01/fiction-feedback-and-finances.html )
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