MABEL
The dark was lovely, the moon bright, and the shadows were her allies as she clung to them in the sultry fall of day. The world crested but didn’t mourn, not like they’d been doing for so many days and weeks. And she followed the wake of chorus bees returning to their hive, the wavering dance, the flight of music, a soothing balm to her ears – as if her mother and siblings were singing again in those few days not faced by anguish.
But they couldn’t and wouldn’t again.
Yet, she still persisted and listened, their hums and tunes making no sense or melody, but she had naught to add in their wake.
And then reality hit her, very, very quickly, the whereabouts she traced; and her eyes flickered to the outset of the Oasis. The glade mocked her, in its genuine, gentle lull, in the once-proud lures, where she’d dove down beneath its veneer without a care in the world. Something that now set her entirely on edge, backing away from the pool, and lingering in the scrape of the earth, staring it down from the embankments.
But they couldn’t and wouldn’t again.
Yet, she still persisted and listened, their hums and tunes making no sense or melody, but she had naught to add in their wake.
And then reality hit her, very, very quickly, the whereabouts she traced; and her eyes flickered to the outset of the Oasis. The glade mocked her, in its genuine, gentle lull, in the once-proud lures, where she’d dove down beneath its veneer without a care in the world. Something that now set her entirely on edge, backing away from the pool, and lingering in the scrape of the earth, staring it down from the embankments.
Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat
Let's be cold to create heat
