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The Wreath

by Jonathan Hill
Originally published by on 20/12/2013

It was her third attempt at building the wreath. She kept misjudging how far she could bend branches and twigs without them snapping. She found it painful too, even though her skin was tough and leathery after a lifetime of manual labour. Finally, she formed a successful ring. She then strengthened it, weaving the twigs in and out of one another as best she could. Her punctured hands oozed red droplets, but she stood back satisfied. The wreath passed through several hands and then was placed upon His head and pressed down until small red rivers flowed over His cheeks.

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