A Bottle of Beer

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She pulled herself up and stood at the top of the hole. Her breaths came in short panting gasps, like a poor man's mad run for the border. Sweat from her armpits rolled down her sides. She made her way to the front door, gripping edges and tops of furniture to steady herself. She stopped at the entry, one hand on the sill, one on her chest as if to muffle the noise of her heart.

She took the bottle from the grip of her cleavage, dangled it by its long neck and took the few steps to the edge of the porch. At first she did not see him enfolded in the shadow of the mountains.

He was much closer now.

A Woman Alone

He sensed a difference in the bare light of dawn. A scent in the air, a ruffle of feathers and soft clucking from inside that drifted and hung over the small yard. He flew up to the top rail of fencing, faced the sunrise and crowed.

Later that morning he discovered the young cock in the midst of the hens. They eyed each other suspiciously, circled, and fought. He was willing to share the corn, the space of the yard, but the favors of the hens were his right alone. He strutted as the others tittered and pecked. When the farmer came just before evening, the old cock saw the axe in his hand.

≡ A Bottle of Beer ≡

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