Mythos

The summer was lush with death, it turned the hare into a twirling dervish, the raccoon to a pantomime villain, forced mice to sing in the jaws of predators. The woods are bare now, trees rattle, birds clatter twiggy wings, briar tangles in the bare throats of scarecrows. October gourds glow, there serrated grins reflected within the eyes of late stalking cats. Nocturnal winds sweep in, bone corseted myths ride upon the cracked racks of desiccated lambs. Petticoats hang from gristly limbs much tattered by thorns. By December, the skeletal woods crunch inwards like roofless catacombs. Reckless children are lost in a leafless maze of fairytales. Mothers tag the young like puppy dogs, vaccinate them against dismay. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ reent edit