I watched as the raven storm circled the garret. My people could go centuries without witnessing such an event, and now within the span of one month, I have witnessed two. I know what they want from me, but I am not ready. Is anyone, really? Obscured by the curtain, I listened for the flap of the ravens’ wing signaling their flight. At length, I waited until my legs benumbed.
“Fly, fly, fly away. Near this house you will not stay.”
Of a sudden, the discordant caws subsided. I held my breath–hoping, praying. I didn’t want to look, but I had to know.
Quiet, I raised the drape and stared into flat, button-like eyes. Startled, I dropped the curtain from my nerveless fingertips sinking to my knees. Just then, three strident caws rent the air.
I closed my eyes and began to cry.
“I suppose I had to die sometime.”
photo credit: photobucket
Old School Italian
Born to Write
"We make bitter better."
Irish History, Culture, Heritage, Language, Mythology
spare the crazy vocabulary, speak from your heart
Poetry, Prose, Photography
by Lize Bard
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
Exploring land recently released by ice (geologically speaking)