Sunday, January 15, 2012

Sleep, Sally, Sleep


Iron pegs stick into the earth, lashing fast the hard vinyl nooses of beige.  The scent of wildflowers carries her down the hill, past posies pink and dead nightshades, like embers, wrapped over by the fresh clover.  At the southwest corner rests a giant wolf, white as snow and as tired as tomorrow.  His head raises; a yellow-eyed gaze meets hers.  There she pauses.  His tongue lolls out; he keens once before dropping jowls to paws, eyes growing more wide.

The breeze stirs the tawny canvas flaps.  In she goes to find the tent's sides open on both ends: open to a sweet, balmy breeze, atop sheets of soft cotton, the air just touched with a hint of wolf.  She lays to sleep, her dreams forever guarded.

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