For Sonya’s Three line Tales prompt
photo by Lavkush Gupta via Unsplash
The setting moon, the first pigeon awake in a winter tree and the meadow a sea of frosted stalks.
No sound except the cracking of the ice formed on puddles and the water butts round the house, no cock crow or fox bark, only the cold that cracks and the wind that whines.
An ordinary August morning, and the first pigeon that will also be the last.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
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You are in remembrance of the summer? Dont laugh on me, but today i’d heard a cock crowing. Not in a farming environment, but in a small garden. But I couldn’t see him. Maybe it was a deception?
It isn’t cold here so I’m not lamenting the lost summer, not yet.
I hope the owner of the cock doesn’t get complaints. You’re not supposed to keep cocks in suburban gardens, too noisy!
Oh, but it was fun. 🙂 Here its a very rural area, but the only one you can see is big machines bringing fodder to the Bioreactor plants.
Sounds grim.
It is. ;-(
This seems very dystopian to me. The lifeless winter of August. Gives me a shiver. (K)
We’re heading that way, I’m sure.