writ a tree frends two is funny one is serious
Author:unloginuser Time:2025/02/05 Read: 6668writ a tree frends two is funny one is serious
Bartholomew Buttercup, a weeping willow of indeterminate age and questionable emotional stability, sighed dramatically. His branches, usually cascading elegantly, were currently tangled in a chaotic mess, like a very green, very leafy octopus wrestling a particularly stubborn wind. Beside him stood Fitzwilliam Fir, a spruce of impeccable posture and even more impeccable seriousness.
“Fitzwilliam,” Bartholomew wailed, a sound like wind chimes suffering a particularly brutal attack, “I’ve lost my favourite leaf!”
Fitzwilliam, ever practical, adjusted his tiny, perfectly formed pine cones. “Bartholomew, you shed thousands of leaves every autumn. It’s a natural process. Statistically, the probability of you ever finding that specific leaf again is infinitesimally small.”
Bartholomew sobbed. “But it was special! It had a tiny, perfectly formed smiley face on it, made by a particularly talented squirrel. I was going to frame it!”
Fitzwilliam sighed, a sound barely audible above the rustling of Bartholomew’s dramatically weeping branches. “Bartholomew, squirrels rarely exhibit artistic talent. And framing leaves is… unconventional, to say the least.”
“Unconventional is my middle name!” Bartholomew declared, his branches flailing wildly, nearly knocking Fitzwilliam over. “Besides, it held sentimental value! I planned to write a ballad about it. A tragic ballad of a leaf lost too soon.”
Fitzwilliam, resigned to his friend’s theatrics, began meticulously combing through the fallen leaves around them. “Perhaps, if you can describe this… ‘artistically gifted’ leaf in more detail, we can narrow down the search parameters.”
“Oh, it was… vibrant! Emerald green! With a perfectly symmetrical smiley face, I tell you! And… and it smelled faintly of… acorn butter!”
Fitzwilliam stared at him. “Acorn butter?”
Bartholomew nodded, tears streaming down his (metaphorical) face. “Yes! A squirrel, a genius with both nuts and art supplies, clearly. This isn’t just a leaf, Fitzwilliam, it’s a symbol! A symbol of… of…” he trailed off, sniffing. “Of lost hope and the ephemeral nature of… of… autumn!”
Suddenly, Fitzwilliam let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. He held up a leaf, a remarkably ordinary leaf, with a faint smudge of something vaguely resembling a smiley face.
“Is this it?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Bartholomew examined the leaf with tear-filled eyes. “It… it could be. But where’s the acorn butter scent?”
Fitzwilliam pointed to a nearby squirrel, busily munching on an acorn. The squirrel, noticing their gaze, looked up and nonchalantly flicked a bit of something brown towards them. It landed directly on the leaf.
Bartholomew gasped. “The scent! It’s… it’s back! My artistic, acorn-butter-smelling leaf!” He embraced the leaf dramatically.
Fitzwilliam shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. Living with Bartholomew was certainly never dull. He just hoped the squirrel wouldn’t get any ideas about framing his next artistic masterpiece. He already had enough to worry about, maintaining his impeccable posture among all the drama.
