The endless clouds reminds me of distant forest fires, a rage of destruction without sound. The trees bare, forlorn limbs weighed with a cloak of black birds. They are silent and still, hard eyes reflecting the dead, sourceless light.
I too am silent. My heart beats because it knows nothing else, my lungs draw in air tasting of copper and dust. Feet moving forward, one step at a time, with terrible finality; carrying me that place, that tree, waiting beside the river I never wanted to see again.
Copyright 2017 by Kira A. Moore, all rights reserved.