In Its Own Glory

“Tree looks unwell,” stated Dad.

“When was the last time you watered it, Robbie?” Mother asked their eldest offspring.

“Whoops! I forgot.”

Mother got the watering can out. After days of nurturing, the needles still cascaded to the floor.

“Need to add more decorations,” Dad beamed, holding a box of icicles.

On Christmas Eve they all gathered around the tree to sing carols. Selfies were taken between exclamations of “ooh and aah.”

“Christmas 2020!” exclaimed Mother. “COVID-19 edition.”

Extended family, among them the dearly departed, stared down from their portraits on the wall.

“Grandpa would’ve loved this tree,” said Robbie.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband, stuffed animals and many friends.

A Philosophic Mind

He returned the edition of Kant to the library, unread again. He came out bearing Sartre’s “Being and Nothingness.” Surely he could make a last effort to master existentialism.

He decided to sit down on the bench in the high street to watch the passersby.

“How foolish they are,” he mused, “going on so unreflectively with their trivial business.”

“Not a philosophic mind amongst them,” he scoffed.

“They probably think I’m just an elderly man sitting here with nothing to do,” he surmised.

How wrong he was, for, unnoticed by the passing multitudes, no one thought about him at all.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher