Brutkey

Michele Feltman Strider
@michelestrider@mastodon.social

You situate yourself on an accommodating root of a sprawling tree. Craggy-old, it's seen some stuff.

You take a healthy bite of burrito, and a wide, red-gold leaf falls in your lap. Another on your head. Then all over you.

Odd. It's springtime.

A squirrel scampers down the trunk, waves at you, and skips down the clean-but-not-too-clean sidewalk. Upright, on two feet.

The tree branches shake again, tossed by a nonexistent wind. The rustling sounds like ancient words. Leaves fall only on you.