Category Manufactured goods in Ordinary
Dusk is settling to dark on this cool September eve, and the first star hangs low and bright in the sky, twinkling with the cheery strands we’ve stretched high above the perimeter of the dance floor.
Murgatroid steps across my hands, brushing her bushy black tail under my nose. But she doesn’t like the loamy soil. Dirties her paws. She soon retreats to the edge of the grass, where she plops down, spreads her forelegs back and over her head and exposes her underbelly to the morning sun.
I waken gently from a dream of wildflowers blowing on the hillside. Murgatroid’s soft paw rests against my cheek. The room is dark under the new moon. Cool air lifts the gauzy curtain at the window, graceful spectre.