He knew she would come, bright-eyed idealist that she was. She spent her days gallivanting with her mate, enjoying the bounty of life; not once did she look his way and why should she? Of low standing and scaly visage, crawling upon his belly, limbless— he was not much of a catch. But today his plan would be realized and his true and awful power revealed. With great effort he climbed into the Tree and waited. Nearer she came and had he had arms with which to grasp he would have pulled her to his cold chest and held her. Instead, he called out, beckoning her with sweet nothings and platitudes until she could barely see straight. He knew she could not—would not—ever fall for his syrupy nattering, which he would have loved to whisper into her lovely and soft-looking ear. He had worked on his discourse and by the dreamy look in her eyes had perfected his pitch; it was ever so difficult for him to enunciate the words properly. But as she reached into the Tree, he knew he had won. She took her prize; as she left he smiled, knowing that she had just placed the souls of many in his hands.
low hanging fruit brings
joyless hardship sadness pain
to all except one
I have been away from the Līgo Haībun challenge for a while, but decided to tackle this photo. Click the photo to add yours.