Tiny Hairs

By Luis Garcia Romero

After Mom passed, the red oak tree in the back yard lost all its leafage and in its place grew long silky hair. From the kitchen window, a giant-size woman appeared to be buried up to her neck.

When Fall came, the hair turned red, and then grey in the winter, blonde in spring, golden brown in summer; Mom’s color.

One sunny morning, we discovered the tree cut down, and Dad passed out on the couch speckled in tiny hairs. Years later, on holidays, we siblings still debated Dad’s motivation. Spouses were not invited to speculate. This mystery was our inheritance.