096: Beautiful War
I wake to a deep drumming, like cushioned drumsticks against a hide strung up to dry. My room is dark. It smells of dense damp soil and exposed roots.
Turning my head, I see my window above me covered by a curtain. I curl my fist into the fabric and yank it aside. A wall of cold descends on my face. I inhale sharply. The window is open. Outside it is the grey of morning, dampened by heavy clouds and lashing rain. Droplets hurl themselves against the glass and, like spaceships pull tails of fire, draw tails of water. Small falling stars of another element. Snowflakes melted.
They burst upon impact, then continue to trickle down the glass until they reach the bottom where they pool, trembling, under fire of heaven's missiles, and finally flee to the ground where they hide in lean grass and tight-fisted buds of clotsfoots.
Mesmerised, I drift off to their rhythmic march.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
Turning my head, I see my window above me covered by a curtain. I curl my fist into the fabric and yank it aside. A wall of cold descends on my face. I inhale sharply. The window is open. Outside it is the grey of morning, dampened by heavy clouds and lashing rain. Droplets hurl themselves against the glass and, like spaceships pull tails of fire, draw tails of water. Small falling stars of another element. Snowflakes melted.
They burst upon impact, then continue to trickle down the glass until they reach the bottom where they pool, trembling, under fire of heaven's missiles, and finally flee to the ground where they hide in lean grass and tight-fisted buds of clotsfoots.
Mesmerised, I drift off to their rhythmic march.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
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