The wind fuels her rituals – neverending sitting, deciphering, reporting – the weight of it all suffocates her.
Why do I have to do this anyway? I harbor nothing ill for the bird, the dog ruminates.
Lava-hot anger rises within as she realizes she merely does what she is told, falling into line with her ancestors demands.
Romping through the lands with the bird like an abandoned hurricane full of fearsome glee is her true calling.
And in that moment, freedom.
Jumping into the winds, she opens her jaws wide, snapping in desperate hope, against all odds and designs… when it happens.
Her paws land on roads of invisible flutters and life begins anew.
The wind fuels her rituals – roaming, howling, frolicking – and she wonders if she will ever get to enjoy sitting still again.
She slowly covers her tiny sphericle with a loosely woven blanket, taking a languid glance at the swirling pulsing promiseful life it shone.
This one will last.
Her eyes roam around flitting over the unfortunate blanket choices of the past and the sphericles who paid for her mistakes with their promise.
The thick blankets stole too much light and warmth away while the sheer ones let sparks of flame pass through, much to her dismay.
She wonders if this is her time to pass the test and then wonders if she’s ever wondered anything else at all. Her mind swims with sphericles and blankets – some pale, almost forgotten, others as bright as the undying fire and just as painful to touch.
This one is the one.
Some time later she slowly uncovers the sphericle and watches its promise pulse and swirl with hastening intensity that she knows can only go on for a short time.
She lays down on her back next to the sphericle, listening to it hum, she slowly covers them both with the perfect blanket, listening to it quiet down, she blinks at the little spots of light shining through the weave and enjoys how they seem to twinkle as soft breezes whisper through her infinite garden.
He wants to get her a mirror.
The burden of the beauty he beholds everyday is too much to bear alone.
He needs her to share in the mystery and wonder of her own existence so he can make sense of it, or at least feel accompanied on such an overwhelming journey.
She eschews mirrors.
Those portals into the unknowing masked as safe reflections unsettle her.
Tapestry covered mirrors are tolerable with their icy fear slightly softened.
No poltergeist will get through here, thank you very much.
And the eternal enigma therein waits patiently to see herself being seen.