Harriet did not like trees. There was something sinister about how they leaned, silently observing, refusing to intercede. Oh you might see a branch sway, perhaps get a pinecone dropped on your head, but beyond that, nothing.
Mama said trees were an allegory about the insignificance of man. Insignificance, Harriet understood.
Trees lined the road Harriet walked every day, and as she marched past, with hood drawn up and eyes narrowed, she’d hear them whisper. She listened to their vulgar murmurs with gritted teeth, and stayed in the center of the road.
“I don’t trust you either,” she whispered back.
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: allegory, trust, vulgar)