Dark Signs

Feral hogs attack the land. They want my neighbors bones. She is chicken thin, her neck creaks in the wind. She does not see the danger; a gentle great grandmother of childish dreams. I fear she will not last the winter. I eat pork kill the snuffling trotters if they draw near. Cats come to me at night, dark scouts, warning of sleepless tusks and snouts. I also dream, scheme, and plan, paint red letters on the barn door of what I see now and saw. Black cats carry the words into the woods.