Lynn Edge
All That Remains
Forty years ago the previous owners planted the saplings before we moved into this house.
What if my husband knew I had the trees cut down?
The two saplings grew to be almost one hundred feet tall. The top branches swayed even in a light wind. The lower branches brushed against the eaves. Catkins dropped on the driveway where western boots, thong sandals and tennis shoes tracked them inside the house.
What if my husband knew I had the trees cut down?
In late summer the husks would burst open and release the nuts. They pinged on the tin roof. Crushed hulls lay on the sidewalk and western boots, thong sandals and tennis shoes left stains on the welcome mat.
Each year I heard rhythmic cracks as he shelled the produce on his picnic table. Even the fall before he died, I heard clicks from the patio.
What if my husband knew I had his trees cut down?
winds of winter
the last of his pecans
still in the freezer
About the Author
Lynn Edge lives in a small Texas town. She’s written haibun since 2002 and her work has appeared in journals such as contemporary haibun online and Frogpond, as well as in the contemporary haibun anthology series and Best Small Fictions 2024. She’s published two books of haibun with Red Moon Press: Unsaddled (2022) and Then and Now (2025).