short fiction · 2026-10-27

Arc of the Shears

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The garden fell into a quiet geometry as each cut followed the rhythm of an unseen script, pruning branches in spirals that mirrored the cadence of a narrative. Leaves drifted to the earth like forgotten chapters, their edges trimmed with deliberate restraint. I watched how a single branch, stripped of excess, revealed a hidden cluster of buds, each one a potential scene waiting for light. The process felt less like removal and more like shaping destiny, a silent dialogue between hand and plant that wrote its own story in silence.