Page 45 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. III #11

Cost of Yellow
I know there’s a war going on, but yellow flowers cover trees in the parking lot as I pull in. True, missiles shatter lives while destroying buildings, but fallen petals cover the tarmac with a fairy-yellow glow. Yes, sirens send us underground while rocket’s dread flares, and these, too, crash stupendously, but the
sea air waves a soft, humid blanket spread out by soothing breezes. So
easily I forget the price
of wind, the cost of yellow; so hard to forget the lone cry of a carrion crow perched high in the tree with sharp eyes turned toward the horizon.
art by the author
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