The Pomegranate Trees
Shrill screeches wake you from sleep.
Outside, a mangy, bug-eyed raven hops along the fence.
You hurl your downy pillow at the half-open window with a hearty, "SHUT UP!"
Your mother walks into the room, hips swaying like the tall, summer grass.
"What on the gods' green earth are you doing?"
She stoops down to pick up the pillow with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, you know, just exercising my anger issues."
"Well, if you're done, I have a few errands to run in town. Want to come along?"
You do not want to come along. You are sick of the errands and the town and the dirt and the chores and the farm. And your mother. You just want one day alone. One day of peace and quiet. Or maybe even one day of adventure. Anything that's not here.
Outside, a mangy, bug-eyed raven hops along the fence.
You hurl your downy pillow at the half-open window with a hearty, "SHUT UP!"
Your mother walks into the room, hips swaying like the tall, summer grass.
"What on the gods' green earth are you doing?"
She stoops down to pick up the pillow with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, you know, just exercising my anger issues."
"Well, if you're done, I have a few errands to run in town. Want to come along?"
You do not want to come along. You are sick of the errands and the town and the dirt and the chores and the farm. And your mother. You just want one day alone. One day of peace and quiet. Or maybe even one day of adventure. Anything that's not here.
