Looking into the Light
by M. Wilkinson
Winter has come early this year. The tree outside my window, under which my lover said his last goodbye, had shed its leaves. They lay brittle, brown, a harlot’s fallen skirts, at its base. It lifts naked arms to the sky. In the night it taps dry, skeletal fingers at my window. I turn in my empty bed, search for the comfort of a warm body, and touch icy sheets.
A crow has made the tree its refuge. It circles, lands high in the branches and mocks my loneliness with its raucous call – gone, gone. Moonbeams touch it with pale fingers, lighting head, and tail – a half bird, staring into my window. I close the curtains, and yet I fancy the bright yellow eyes see through the folds, and goose-bumps ripple along my arms.
In the spring I’ll find a new lover, delight in his kisses, and fly on winged feet to meet him.
In the spring I will fell the tree.
(Maureen Wilkinson is a British Author. Her interests range from travel to antiques. It’s when walking that her mind travels its own strange paths. Some of her credits include short stories published in Flashme, Champagne Shivers, Gemini, Literal Translations, Susurrus, ect. Northern Ireland Arts council published four of her flashes in a newly released anthology. She has been nominated for 2010 Best of the Web, and also Pushcart.)