Abode

The grass is threadbare on this hilltop and the soil washed away, but the stones hold on all the same. Sunset casts its sparks over maroon rock. In the shadow of the boulder sits the old corral, though the sheep have long since vanished. A shell is left, a memory.

A green sward covers the roof just as lichen does the lintel. The invitation stands: enter for shelter, exist for sustenance. The great fist is the protector, the omnipresent shepherd. It fuses this structure to the earth.

Amidst this desert, ringed by jagged rock, a sprig of wild thyme is flourishing. It glows blood-red like an ember, like a shard of the sun.