Homeward bound

A small house stands alone. A sea of ashen grass, rippled and silvered by the crackling wind, rages around it. Beaten but never broken.

Changing pressure and an indigo sky. Both signs of a storm, they weigh on its roof, and it hunkers down low.

The pillow cases snap and fight on the line, their brightness a void in the fractious dark of the afternoon.

Waiting, they stand and watch, bracing themselves against the door with pale hands as the wind drums and the dancing grasses bow, showing nothing but the horizon.

Author: Bloggeuse

Writer, editor and translator by trade. I’m interested in writing, books, photography, films, communication, language, feminism, grammar and humour. And probably some other things, too. I’m left-wing, vegetarian, pro-choice, UK-based and fond of spinach- and lentil-based curries. I love forests, cities at night, autumn, natural colours and bokeh.

3 thoughts on “Homeward bound”

    1. Thank you :) It’s so wonderful and frustrating at the same time to have weird dreams: I find myself wishing I could dream ’round corners’ and see all the stuff that isn’t there.

      The funny thing, if you think about it, is that dreams only exist because we think them up. So, technically, whoever I think the people in the house are, and whatever I think they’re waiting for, I’m right!


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