acute pain,

[thirty eight or something]

Sitting quietly, the small fox pondered the stars that were colliding above him. Sparks and crashes above his head, and he was worried that his feet didn't match. One was dipped black, the other was the same curious burnt orange that coloured the rest of him. He sat, pondering the stars, depressed due to his lack of symmetry and normalcy, when the wind picked up, and being a small weight the small fox fell lightly onto the grass beside him.

His feet, sticking in the air, waved lightly in the darkness. it was quiet, and serene, and now the fox lay on his back staring at the small lights. The stars blotted the deep purple, blue-black sky with the singularity of drops of wax. The sky rippled around in honour of the bright stars, the reflections of their own sun and the sky's beautiful history, written on itself to portray the lost and the found. The fox was so small, and the stars were so small; the difference between the two was that the stars meant a whole lot more.

and so the fox shook off his thoughts of the stars, the illuminating paths to the Gods and the myths and so many other legendary stories. He rolled over, padding the ground that felt soft like clay and his mis-matched feet felt the earth as their home. The wind was still blowing its warnings across the grass, and it was a never-ending struggle for the fox to walk even a few strides away to his little hovel in a tree.

It was a small hole, duh neat and prim, for the fox to sleep and keep himself when times were rough or cold or wet. He smiled as his hole took light from the stars and transformed from a half-hole to his home. Dropping lightly into it, the fox sniffed at the earth as his nose traced the edge of the hole. The grass was light brown from the earlier sun, and the ground was wet, but not muddy. It smelled like his home.

Looking back up at the stars, the fox let his tongue hang noose-like from his lips while fidgeting with his black and orange paws. He was thinking again about how important the stars seemed, they were there to lead them home. To illuminate the pathes, and to act as a map for those who needed them. He sat, nose on the edge of the hole, eyes directed to the sky, reading the great history in which he trusted.

Although he was in his hole and was preparing for his sleep, he was home.



February 8, 2011 - Jess :]