The serene garden cradles an Antediluvian

No rest for old veins. Like he could want it anymore.

A boy rushes through bushels toppling some berries to the ground.


“Now tell me? I'm all done.”


“You need a straw and maybe a few more feisty ones; string the fruit to them, you hellion.” he scolds benignly.

“And then I’ll show you more magic!”


Off he goes.


The dreams are a warning. They taunt with crooked hooks for hands. Staring.


“Come back, succumb, and yield.” He remembers when it was mandatory.


It does not make the berry-necklaces less sweet through trembling hands.


Done. I challenge with "A New Strain of Calligraphy".


For those who like beginnings. For those who must start somewhere. Beginnings of the beginning