Time to
write another story and the mind is blank.
Or rather the mind is filled with fragmented thoughts and images weaving
in and out, not combining in any recognizable shape, like little sparrows
giving wing when a falcon lands in their midst, they scatter and whoosh are
gone settling out of sight in the brush.
A faint rustling,
a twitch of a leaf covered stem and the tiny puff of feathers seeking freedom
from the bird of prey falls victim to the snake concealed among the foliage.
Such is
the way of life and the crafting of a story!
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