DispatchJuliet is feeling better, but is not yet well. She has asked me to cover one of the porch benches with blankets. The bench is quite deep, and there are enough throws and quilts to make the hard woods of the seat pillowy. I have saved the other half of the blankets for Juliet to wrap around her. It is a chilly evening, but I find myself comfortable with a light jacket and a cup of hot almond milk.
In the dim across the valley, something has happened at Artur Montrevasso's house. We cannot see to well, but in the drive are several vehicles with strobing lights, red and blue and white. We do not know how many there are, or why they are there. We can hear no noises of engines, and none of them are moving. The lights reach out across the valley to lick the tops of trees.
We watch for a while. It is quiet, and we say nothing to break it. We see nothing change, and we wait.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.