Bernard Holloway's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Bernard Holloway stood in the center of the town square, boots planted in frozen dirt, imagining a row of perfect evergreens lining the cobblestones with his name on the invoice. He'd been growing trees his whole life, but this was the year someone would finally notice. He found the old oak tree at the edge of the square and cleared his throat, speaking to its gnarled trunk about root systems and branch density like it was the town council itself. His voice cracked on the third sentence, so he started over, this time gesturing with both hands at the tree's whispering leaves, explaining how his evergreens would hold their needles through February while looking half as wild. Back at the nursery, he walked between rows of saplings he'd been tending since spring, their deep green branches dusted with fresh snow. He chose six of the straightest ones, their needles thick and symmetrical, already picturing them lined up in front of the council with tags bearing his careful handwriting about height and hardiness. The town office smelled like pine garland and old paper when he stepped inside, saplings arranged on the table between him and the contract. He signed his name in the margin, ink still wet, and the weight of it made his hands shake just enough that he had to laugh.