It was a cool autumn day in Kansas City and old mrs. Battleaxe just skipped watching the news for a walk in the park to see the fall colors. The park was full of sycamores and elms and a one lone red oak standing like a giant in its auburn autumn glory. The old woman had loved that oak tree since a child when her first grade class had planted it at the end of the Great war. She walked by the other trees without notice, her eyes only on the bright fall colors as she thought of the last century past. She thought of her children and grandchildren and of her great loves and walked slowly with her heart beaming over a full life lived. Mrs. Battleaxe was the sweetest and most beloved woman in Kansas City’s history. Park goers watched her with hidden pride and wonder from sidewalk benches under lesser but safer sycamores and elms. Finally she was under the great oaks wide branches and she was so very happy. A single tear fell for her happy place. That’s when the oak mite dropped thirty feet and landed plumb on her head smashing her flat.It tore of her head in its razor sharp pincers and scurried right back up the tree. Poor old woman died instantly and ignorantly of the new’s dire warnings.

THE END

 

 

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