I drove out to my uncle's for lunch. Gravel crunched under the tyres and a murder of crows - it seemed to be at least 100- rose from the recently plowed fields. It was a Thursday and thar afternoon, the cards told of a pacing oneself and of believing. There were two pennies in the gravel outside the gate.
On Friday, the sun was out and I walked up the hill into town. A lone white feather drifted to a gentle stop on the path in front of me. I picked it up, intwined it in my hair.
This morning, I walked down an unknown path to a mill. A horse walked straight to me, budging me with her muzzle. I rested my forehead against hers, and just breathed. Everything stilled. I slept deeply but my dreams were heavy and disruptive. Fragmented, with bodies strewn, parts separated. Skin stripped in layers and chunks. Renewal? Regeneration?
Comments
Post a Comment