It is warm under this early summer sun.
Wrapped in heavy jeans, tucked deeply within my boots, I step carefully along, walking the edge of our pond—its few inches of water, rimmed by a brilliant tangle of grass.
Thinking boots alone enough, I walked here days before--the tender green at the edge, inviting. Only to find, instead, that I was greeted by cutting blades, so eager to slash the flesh below my shorts, that, even as I moved slowly and gingerly between them, the tiny barbs caught easily, ripped ungraciously. And, days later, boasted of their conquest in the many red scratches crisscrossing a 12-inch section on both of my legs.
Chased away, I have returned on this day, dressed for battle.
A fine bead of sweat inches its way, tickling, trickling--
beneath my armor, to reach my ankle.
It is in this savage land, defended by blades and swords, that damsels and dragons dwell.
White’s Thrush or Scaly?
8 hours ago