【Petals】

Bending with the gentle winds, no root is undone from the grainy soil. Beside her fragile body, an oak nearly felled over the chasm, his spine curved with aged tolerance of the turbulent Constance. She worries, body not built to withstand centuries of unending wear, nature’s cruel excuse for art.

A petal of hers falls prey at last to the sweeping air—cascading gently into the near floorless abyss. The mantis told her it wouldn’t hurt much, when it’s finally time to tear at the stem and leave for tomorrow’s end. Yet still she’s fearful, unable to see what happens once your hit the cold light, dozens of miles below.