Sometimes

Sometimes it was difficult to force her body to move through the sequence of chores. Her feet would grow leaden and her fingers would refuse to grasp. The buckets and barrows that normally danced as she commanded would stand sullen and still as the afternoon light deepened.

Sometimes the clouds conspired against her, weaving fantastical tales across the azure canvas of the sky. She would lie on her back in the cool grass and narrate these stories to the grasshoppers and song birds. The herd would gather around the doors, feet stomping at the delay.

Sometimes it felt as if the wind followed her–stalking, spying. The hairs on her neck would stand at attention as she worked up the nerve to step out of the safety of the barn. She would creep along the exterior of the building, back pressed against red paint and eyes scanning the horizon. The distance between the door and the lean-to that needed shoveling would stretch out like caramels left in the sun.

_ _ _ _ _

*7/8/16 prompt: “sometimes it felt like the wind followed her”

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