short fiction · 2026-10-06

Echoes in the Grain

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The wind brushed the bark of the old oak as I walked among its roots, and the pattern of concentric rings caught my eye. Each ring seemed to pulse with a quiet rhythm, a slow cadence that reminded me how memories accumulate, each layer a faint imprint of seasons past. I lingered, feeling the texture of time in the wood, and sensed that the tree was not merely storing water but echoing the very flow of recollection.