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11-27-2013, 07:54 PM
Feuille watches the redbirds twine like rosary upon the tree limbs, wishing she could dance along the bending bark. It stretches to a vast expanse that, to the horses' eye looks to be an impenetrable wall of dense summer green. Redbird feathers sift bars of gold, evening light to the crunchy floor, and their croon uniquely skips along the leaves. Warmth decorates sun's waning air as everyone awaits evening. Joy is certainly abundant. Weak legs trickle forward, spent out of dance and out of spirit. There were three times in her life where she ever felt like she was ready to stop, ready to root her legs into the soft soil and grow again. This would be her fourth, and she felt it like a seed inside of her, rejuvenating and flushed spiritually with sweet water. She retained the nutrients, flushed with a dose of good, foamy sweat. Orange eyes bore holes through the knotted tree limbs and saw the darkening sky. She breathed. She listened. Instead of calling out, the mare waited and felt the sun's light separating out among blackness, like dust among the clouds. Her redbirds shuffled away and their calls silenced while the light eventually burned out. She sighed heavily, lungs two battered canvas bags stretched to the bounds of their fabric with mountainous air. It had been another day without a trace of anyone. Orange eyes still bore through the tree limbs, resting in the navy-black as she made a nest for herself for the night. |
