Retrograde Motion

The baby birds were screeching loud and hopping in the tree out back. Their new eyes squinting at the sun as they hollered for their mother. A tiny chick unwittingly  jumped much too near the edge, and fell tumbling and fumbling his way to the ground and landed on the heather. This slight disturbance caught the eyes of a passing fox who paused intrigued. He reached the bird in an orange flash. Oh, what a tasty treat!

The folks were traveling out of town. A single light burned in the house, and no one there to watch the place but the lion knocker on the door. The street light flickered steadily but did not steal the knockers gaze. He brooded high up on his perch, and snarled at the stony steps. The sound of feet upon the walk and voices hissing quietly.  The lion knocker crouched in place as darkness took the form of men. The tall one fumbled with a piece of wire. The bald one held a light. The knocker glared into their eyes  warning them to go away. The wire scratched inside the lock searching for the pins. The bald man looked straight in the lion’s eyes and smirked, he felt no bit of fear.  Ring! Ring! Whizz! Clang!  The wire popped the lock, and now the lion bared his fangs as through the house rang roars from the alarm. The bald man tripped on the other’s leg, the tall man leapt off of the porch. And like a heard...

There’s little cheerful left to say. There’s little joy inside of me. I wish that I could go away. I had joy when I woke today, but since death took its costly fee there’s little cheerful left say. I feel as if I ought to stay, but when he’s carried in front of me I wish that I could go away. He’s sought the brighter heavenly way, and in his haste left suddenly. There’s little cheerful left say. I know it’s good it worked this way. Still though I know his soul is free I wish that I could go away. But now he’s finally gone away we think of how things used to be. There is a little cheerful left to say. I wish they wouldn’t go away.

My roof is lined with crystal daggers pointing at the ground. And when a slight disturbance comes they quickly whistle down. I saw them first this morning when I looked out at the snow. Pointing down like archers to fire a fatal blow. I do not want to play outside, I’d rather look instead.  I fear that if I touch that snow a knife will stab me dead.