The mules were drooling, the sign, the driver said, we approached the summit. The trail wound back through the trees and when the mules proved correct we opened to a view where the mountains unrolled in silver clasps through a haunted room. Thirsty, there was no drinking in the trees and so, freed, we sat passing black tea bladders/inventing jokes about our arms. A white hawk soared near, the ribbons on our handles shone. We walked another click, as they say, when a cart of paints blocked our way. On a platform sat a tall, fertile woman rendering the view on teacups, laying them out in a drying rack of granite.
Hounded by White Hawks
Hounded by White Hawks
Hounded by White Hawks
The mules were drooling, the sign, the driver said, we approached the summit. The trail wound back through the trees and when the mules proved correct we opened to a view where the mountains unrolled in silver clasps through a haunted room. Thirsty, there was no drinking in the trees and so, freed, we sat passing black tea bladders/inventing jokes about our arms. A white hawk soared near, the ribbons on our handles shone. We walked another click, as they say, when a cart of paints blocked our way. On a platform sat a tall, fertile woman rendering the view on teacups, laying them out in a drying rack of granite.