Haunting is the desolate song that weaves in and out of the shadows. Look closely and you will hear the soft susurrus of the eddies that die as soon as they lift their heads into existence. What is built into the ground stands rigid but the trees bend their branches to listen to what the earth has to say. And the earth has dirty things to tell, like how the thudding of feet reverberates along its breast but it is the hammering heart of the boy lost in the woods that wakes the crows. They caw-caw in earnest and fog up all sense of clarity. The trees sway to the melody of haste and hesitation, then the instantaneous decision the boy makes to hide in the thicket. Somewhere yonder the shadows conspire and the boy’s pursuer falls for his decoy. The heavier steps recede and the earth calls to the trees again, resuming its discussion that spurs the droning of the cicadas that carries over the rustling of the bush where the boy lies, exhausted. His lids grow heavy and his sense of time stretches into soft darkness. The trees lean towards him, siphoning nature’s maternal equanimity into his slumbering form. And so he drifts, and so he dreams…

@weshouldabeencowboys