The Mulberry Tree

The old women sat in a small circle under the natural, unnatural, shade of the Mulberry tree. Weaving their knits; a sing-song chatter rising musically into the hot Cretian afternoon, past the children perched in the branches above eating the sweet berries. Soon, cold December will arrive. The old women will hang silently the pruned, bare, thin branches with water-filled bottles forcing horizontal growth. The shadeless Mulberry tree will sing. As strong, cold winter winds whistle across the open necks; a sweet random melody.