Live Oak

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From my WIP, Seeking Odessa, I picture this tree along the bayou in Odessa’s back yard outside the kitchen door.  The way the branches create a network, very much like the different paths and subplots of the story.  Here’s an example–can you smell it, see it, hear it, feel it, and more important, would you like to visit? I’d love to know what you think!


From the shrub at the bottom of the steps the scent of gardenia wafted around Odessa.

Oo-oo-waoh, oo-oo-waoh  oo-oo-waoh.

Mourning doves pecked at the ground under the live oak. She scooped a cup of seed from the bucket by the door. They took flight into lower branches when she stepped out to toss the seed, but soon settled again on the ground. Countless mornings, countless generations of doves had been lovingly fed under this giant tree.

From a branch of the oak hung a wooden bench swing. She strolled over, gave it a shove and watched it sway, stilled it and laid down. With bare feet braced against the cool chain she pushed with first one foot and then the other to make the swing twist. Above her, in the Spanish moss-draped branches were three pairs of eyes peering back.

Raccoons have lived in moss nests in the upper fork of the oak for as long as she could remember and probably for far longer. They journeyed up and down the tree, walking the branches growing down and sprawling along the ground.