Fluffy Easter chicks
Three for five dollars—
Silent, midnight silk,
starlight eyes in winter sky.
I’m being followed.
One micey. Two micey. Three micey. Four—
He stopped, stock still, on the gleaming barbed wire fence. The fourth spike was empty. Where was four micey?
Adorned with a crown of jewels, she sat regal on her throne, watching the comings and goings of her subjects below.
She felt it before she saw the first clouds shadowing the horizon. The gentle breeze changed swiftly, picking up speed, gusting through her feathers, urging her, fly! fly!
In the depths of the forest he toiled for hours, sweeping his stage of errant leaves and broken twigs, preening each magnificent tail-feather to perfection.
Last year was lean-times. Plentiful rain and warming sun nourished verdant fields of rice and millet and sugarcane. Herds of sacred cows and droves of goats grew fat with wheat and calf and kid.
The cornfields listen Their growing, ripening ears Deafened to feed us Today’s daily WordPress prompt is Yellow.
The fire raged hotter; its flames, they grew Consuming plant life old and new The birds all flew, and beasts—they ran a deadly race since time began No water tamed the searing flames Reduced were forests, to bare plains Such mighty giants brought to their knees Above the slumbering redwood seeds. . My take on today’s daily WordPress blog prompt: Devastation Picture is © Olearys under CC by 2.0
When I was eight, I found a beautiful flower peeping shyly out from a crack in the concrete. Granddad told me, that Great Grandpa told him, that before The Cataclysm, flowers used to grow everywhere. They grew tame in Gar-Dens and wild in great fields called Maid-O’s. They filled the world with a wonderful miasma of perfume, their hues and shades too many and varied to name. A blanket of colour upon a carpet of green,… Read More