It was coming
through the forest towards her.
She couldn’t see it
yet, and suspected that she wouldn’t get a chance to see it at all.
Gears grinding,
smoke billowing, with groans of complaint and whispers of rust, trees bent and
shattered in its wake.
When would it
appear in the clearing, and why weren’t the dogs barking at it? She glanced at
her dogs in their pen and they were sound asleep, upside down, tummies basking
in the sun.
And then it
thundered; a rolling physical thing that demanded she look up.
The sky was bright
robins’ egg blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment