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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
Weekly Contest #53
If the vulture riding warm air currents far above my head craned its bald neck downward, it would see a mite inching across the earth's golden skin. If it tucked its mottled brown wings and dove towards the ground with eyes trained at it, the speck would grow and split into a mule caked in sand, and my long figure ten paces behind her, both walking. My rough cotton robe billows and snaps in the wind and my legs are locked in low repeating strides forward, varying only to step over a clump of dung occasionally produced by my tired mule. Sand ...
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