The wolf rolled its head back and yawned, then coughed and choked, eyes white in the moonless night. When the world was silent again, the moon reappeared behind the pine trees, a jagged slice missing from its edge.

Every day

Leave it. It’s not worth it. Walk away.
The somersaulting evening starlings signed to the sun.
The fading sun, reluctantly, dipped below the horizon.
You know I’ll be back, it growled.
The moon peeked pale-faced from behind the clouds.
Every day, it said. Every day.


illustration © Ross Gillespie @bigblether