The Prophecy of the Fates

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The Fates had prophesied

The death of the old and

The birth of something new

So I stand on a hill lush and fertile 

The glass blades swaying as

The day prepares to welcome the night

Cassiopeia

Photo credit: Khamkéo Vilaysing on unsplash.com

I lay on a park bench under a moonless sky, listening to an orchestra of chirping crickets. The petrichor from the recent rainfall lent a scented backdrop to their performance, one which contained an almost imperceptible rhythm to it. As for me, I counted the stars in the constellations that watched over me: nine in Leo, seven in the Great Bear, eight in Orion, and five in...

The Comfort of Something Familiar

Photo credit: Christian Lambert on unsplash.com

In time, like any good observer, you start to notice things around you. The chirping of birds. Particles of dust dancing in the rising sunlight. The ticking of a clock as you lie in your bed. You count the seconds until you lose track because 479 is too big of a number. You leave your bed, the scrambled sheets aching for you, but you know better than to fall in that trap. Or maybe you don’t. The comfort of something familiar has always been welcoming.