She sat staring out of the car window, looking for answers. Birds fluttered around in the many trees. The light breeze pushed the weeds and flowers back and forth. Nature was alive and waiting to hear from her. But she knew she would not hear what she wanted.
Come with us, the small birds called. Fear is not a part of your darkness, and we are simple creatures of simple fears. Or do we gracefully complicate your disasters?
Walk among us, said the trees. If we do not have fear, if we move out of the light simply, then we are no better than those before us.
We speak of truth everlasting, the wind whispered. We never cower to those of opinion and guilt. We never compromise when we should lay waste. Fear is not a part of our darkness.
But we will make it part of yours.
None spoke to her of starting her car, returning home, and forgetting what she was here to do. No voice quelled fear or sorrow or doom. Her own silence rang out a spoke of inevitability.
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Copyright 2025 Russell Dickerson. All rights reserved.