Gulls cried raucously above as they journeyed to their nesting place. Below, field mice scurried amongst autumn’s detritus. And perched atop the bare, limestone cliffs between above and below, was she – the embodiment of patience
The aspen watched from a distance as the sharp teeth of a chainsaw cut cruelly into the weathered bark of the old sycamore.
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.