The Blossom Tree

By B. F. Medlin

She looked again on the mantis. For the first time she became aware of a stillness to its presence; an almost holy, sacred stillness. What was this? After a while she asked, What will I find there?- The Praying Mantis

The Blossom Tree presents a series of sharply written short stories with a genuine New Zealand voice. Heartwarming, tender, gritty and humorous, nearly all the stories are drawn from real people and based on true events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504301688

B. F. Medlin

B.F. Medlin lives with her partner and teenage daughter in the Otago township of Waikouaiti.

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Copyright © 2016 B. F. Medlin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-0167-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-0168-8 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 06/21/2016

CONTENTS

The Blossom Tree

Tai Chi Me

The Dwarf Citrus

A Lucky Man

Kindness of a Stranger

Dreams Of Warriors

Tane

Simply Perfect

The Emails

The Big White Box

Sojourn With Clasical Sarah

The Rescuer

Alstroemeria

The Praying Mantis

To my wonderful parents Fay & Harry Voice.

Thank you for your love and wisdom.

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THE BLOSSOM TREE

I woke early. It was too early for the shrill chatter of children winding their way over to the local primary school. Too early even for the distant drone of traffic on the motorway flowing bumper to bumper like a stream of consciousness. My attention was drawn to rustling outside the window. Two resident tuis were up bright and early plundering nectar from the yellow Kowhai. The early morning sun cast their bobbing images onto the curtains like shadow puppets. The thought made me smile. I decided to get up and run a bath. My daughter was coming over later to take me shopping. After my soak I would whip up her favourite morning tea of fresh warm pikelets with raspberry jam and cream. I would make a double batch. Her young grandchildren regularly pop in on me after school. I drew back the bedclothes and put my feet to the floor. The tuis sensed company and departed, the velvety sound of their wings trailing away in the distance. The walker by the bedside helped steady me to my feet and glide me through to the bathroom. I leant across to lift up the toilet seat when my feet slid forward on the smooth bathroom tiles. I reached for the walker, but was unable to stop my descent to the floor. Lying there, shocked by the painful impact, my full bladder sent a stream of warm liquid cascading down my legs. I cried, unable to move.

***

I was brought up a Catholic, so was my mother. When you’re very young you don’t imagine you can pick or choose on the matter. We lived in a place called Rewanui on the beautiful, wild, West Coast of the South Island, New Zealand. Sometimes it seemed like it rained practically all the time. But how I enjoyed the sound of that same heavy rain thundering on our iron roof at night, tucked up warm, secure and safe.

My earliest memory is of whining at mum to let me go and get apples. I might have been about five or six. On the way back with them, some young scallywags called the Steel brothers scared the heck out of me by warning of a ghost on the line. So I put the apples under an old timer’s veranda for safe-keeping, and hid. When I heard a noise, I thought it was the ghost. I was so scared, and yelled who’s that on the trolley line, who’s that on the trolley line? Down came my big brother Col. Mum had sent him out to see where I had got to.

There was six of us kids. I was the fifth child and only girl. My baby brother Dini was two years younger. In 1922, when I was nine, my oldest brother Clarence died from Tuberculosis aged twenty-two. I remember he died in our mother’s arms on the kitchen floor, his blood the brightest red against her white dress. After his funeral, mum and dad bought a Cherrie Blossom. One of my mother’s favourite trees. Father planted it close to my brother’s