My world is like yours. It was yours. Once. Before, but it doesn’t do to linger on what might perhaps have been.
The sky is a blanket of blue. I lie, lulled under it on my hillside watchpoint mesmerized by white cloud wisps passing by. Until.
Their approach announced like a bee trapped in folds of fabric. Angry. Insistent. I sit up. Alert and watchful.
Flecks, then Avian shapes in black pepper the skies. I flick from sunshades to enlarger lenses, trying to gauge the danger.
We’re ready as they near our camp hoping for friends this time, not foe.