The Family Business

Flash fiction, 600 words. For IAM's May 22 prompt. Dedicated to those with siblings.

IAM’s May 22 prompt. https://ironage.media/prompt/the-oread.html. Courtesy of Iron Age Media.

Mayapple Marblemoss slumped against the storm-wet bark of a veteran maple and took a moment to breathe. She recited the Autumn Harvest Cheat Sheet in its entirety:

Pull the leaves yellow, time to mellow.

Pull the leaves brown, never frown.

Pulling leaves was hard work. The storm had been as welcome to the job as a combine harvester, but trees were stubborn. Mayapple and her sisters had the job of convincing them to shake it all off and fall into their wintry rest.

No one liked a tree full of brown leaves come the first snow. So she plucked until the trees got the hint.

She didn’t like her autumn duties. Spring was better. That’s when her sisters and she went from tree to tree, bush to bush, flower to flower, vine to vine, flicking orange pollen around like the sun’s own confetti and loosening things up for the bees. That was fun.

Leaf-pulling felt mean.

The maple was still yellow. It was also gold, orange, and crimson. Leaves surrendered of their own will, encouraged by the ravages of the storm. She loved sugar maples and was glad she didn’t have to bully this one yet.

Beeches were another matter. Only after centuries of resistance, plucking, more resistance, and an unfortunate incident in which a tree was denuded in August, had her nymph sisters and the beeches come to an arrangement: The beeches could stay golden through the first snows, and the Nymphs in turn wouldn’t start plucking until Christmas. Golden beeches in the snow were still beautiful.

Brown oak leaves cluttering the winter wonderland, less so.

The oaks had not come to an arrangement, not even among themselves. How Mayapple bullied them! How they laughed at her! For they were mighty, and their leaves manifold.

“Look at you, lazybones.”

Lilypad Lilacbush, sister and tormenter, grabbed wads of maple leaves and dumped them on Mayapple. Lilypad was a born bully.

“I get an hour’s break at noon, dummy. Those are the rules.”

“Why? ‘Cause Mom said? Mom said,” taunted Lilypad in a whiny voice.

“Oh, go fall out of a red oak,” huffed Mayapple. True, Mother (that is, the Earth) said the nymphs could rest at noon. But most didn’t take their break, not during this late state of autumn.

Leaf-ridden autumn paled compared to winter, of course. Each snowflake had to be individually crafted. Mayapple’s one saving grace was that snows didn’t fall every day in these woods. She felt sorry for mountain nymphs. Lots of snow-crafting, most the year ‘round.

Spring was fun. Summer was the best. The rest of nature did all the hard work in summer, and the Nymphs took a well-deserved break. Lots of dancing, lots of drinking, with a hangover that lasted well into October.

Mostly to avoid Lilypad, Mayapple took flight toward a copse of young oaks. This was her chance to put the fear of nymphs into them young. She found a few good, brown, dried leaves and pulled. The sapling resisted, but she insisted.

There! Now another. Now one less dry. Now one that still had a dull red edge to it. Gone.

“You have to drop them, dears, for your own good,” she soothed. Then, because this always worked better anyway:

“And Mom said.”