Bob & Tree

Sally leaned against her favourite tree, a willow she affectionately referred to as Bob, and imagined the life she would never have.

A man held her hand, his fingers gently brushing against her pale skin. His lips touched at the nape of her neck, whispered his undying love, an emotion fuelled by her extraordinary beauty. If only such a man existed. If only Sally could stare at her reflection and not want to avert her eyes.

Bob's upper branches swayed ever so slightly in the thick afternoon, more as a defence against the hot sun than from the non-existent breeze. The humidity gave his leaves a heady scent that Sally found more uncomfortable than soothing.

"Bob," she said, "you need a shower. Preferably a solid downpour to rinse this afternoon away. I've had enough of the heat, thank you very much."

"We all have," came a voice behind her.

Sally turned and saw a boy. No, a man, actually, of such a short stature that on first glance she had mistaken him for a child. He wasn't small in the manner where his hands and feet were disproportionate to the rest of the body: a dwarf or midget, she could never remember the proper label.

"Bob, introduce us, please," she said.

"I'm sorry, did I miss something? Is Bob your invisible boyfriend? Or is he an extremely small dog?"

Sally laughed. "The tree. Bob is my tree."

"Ha!" he countered. "Her name isn't Bob, it's Bonnie."

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Thanks to Michael and Stephanie for the words.