Friday, March 23, 2012

her basket of secrets

anyone watching from afar would have seen a ghostly figure, shrouded all in black, moving about the night meadow with surefooted ease, plucking what looked to be little fireflies from the night air and dropping them into a covered basket -in much the same way one might surreptitiously yet with little guilt pluck a rose from a neighbor’s bush.

the mystery figure made almost no sound at all, and to watch the entire scene was like watching a dream with the edges so crisp and so sharp, it simply had to be real.

suddenly, a twig snapped in the night air and -with that -the mystery figure abruptly disappeared.

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