Is a melting blur, a smudged window _ I can’t remember much that made me smile – I’m racking my brains, hard – so hard it hurts, the only bits falling in are spying a male cardinal, scooping air, landing in a willow bush, far overgrown, its branches dipping under his weight, his song breaking through the closed windows – a fleeting glimpse, then _ flight; easy come and go.
Speaking of red: sangria – sweet nectar in slow sips, moderately comforting, an aid to chase sleep into my bed; waking, from “dreamless sleep” – having the dogs let me lie in longer, _ only just. The cat tucked up close and purring. Worthy of a small smile.
Rose hips on the edge of _ bursting their skins. Small, round, fleshy fruit. High octane power. Naturally sourced. No additives or preservatives. I might have collected, but earlier on decided to leave them be. They adorn the thorny long-stemmed necks as precious as Cleopatra’s jewels. Why not let the night creatures feast; they are khol-eyed thieves, highwaymen. This idea pleases me. A smile.
Speaking of red: fox – bushy, thick, but sleek enough, treading with black boots. Russet dreams. Trickster’s daughter. You must have been carrying a warning, but I missed the message; you’ll come a calling again, I’m sure. Very small smile, _ only just. The dogs will go mental. Again.
written for Trent’s The Weekly Smile: 😃 Oct. 4 ’21