rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Carrion

This afternoon, as I watered plants in the back yard where the scent of jasmine sweetened the bee-buzzed air, and the breeze-flicked poppies nodded fat, golden heads, eastward I glimpsed birds circling the distant field I used to visit when I still had time for afternoon walks. This evening, I notice that the gap in the trees reveals only empty sky above the field. I suspect that the birds have, by now, plucked the leaden eyes from the corpse of my muse.

At hand, the evening crows caw and the crickets begin chirping. The western sky is bright, and flecks of golden light linger amid the lower branches of the ponderosas, while their silhouetted tops display the tight clumps of new needles which will soon spread open. The dense shade east of the mulberry tree is already more night than day. My eye is drawn more there than to the patches of bright sky. I'm eager for darkness to engulf the street's houses. I want the moon's company, and I want the town's mechanized voice to be silenced. There's a muse to be mourned.
Subscribe

  • Reset Thirty-Six, Day Three

    Well, I've always wanted to hibernate through the winter, and now I seem to be doing something very close to that. Sleeping for a few hours multiple…

  • Reset Thirty-Six, Day Two

    After waking up before noon Thursday, then needing to sleep again not long after sunset, I finally woke up about two o'clock this morning and got the…

  • Reset Thirty-Six, Day One

    More sleeping took place on Wednesday, and there might have been dreams, and there was certainly waking up by day and by night and feeling displaced.…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments