She wore canary yellow in the silver fog, the folds of her dress dancing like a flame. She leaned her body over the edge of the bridge. A school of fish glimmered past her in a swirl of blues and greens.
She hailed an ultimatum, last night, by telephone. The chord nearly ripped out of the wall. Her tears were loose and kissed her cheeks where he should have been.
She begged him not to go on this trip. She wished he postponed his rendezvous and embrace her one last time. His voice was hollow and dead through the receiver. The earth turned over in her mind.
She insisted they meet at the bridge. At dawn, she rose with vigilant resolve. Her body trembled in the fragile air. But one glimpse of him would assuage all her fears. He couldn't possibly travel without bidding her ado.
The fog grew enormous pressing her into a strange embrace. She fantasized his hands race against her skin and seize her with a kiss. Unyielding to the bitter cold, she planted her feet as roots.
In the velvet night air, the wind cried out, “Your hour is nearly spent. You shall surely die if you remain here. But we shall grant you one wish.”
Tearfully, she contemplated her fate. “I ask for nothing except a tree be planted in my place. May it bring remembrance to the one I love.”
By morning, a tiny tree sprouted in a woman’s frame. The tree grew sturdy and strong adorned in yellow leaves. And all who passed by declared her the Tree of Love.