A Delightful Surprise
Quite startled at the flyer’s sudden appearance, its talons thudding against the meadow, its wide eyes spying, the worm darted around and spoke.
“You are not supposed to be here,” it said.
“You,” said the flyer, “are not supposed to be here either. And what, may I ask, is that music?”
The worm smirked in the flyer’s direction and said, “This? Oh this is the good stuff!”
Eat or dance? This is the question the owl presently asks herself. This worm blasts entrancing bass-filled music, is under its spell. Tessa would like to be under its spell. She loves the four on the floor beat, the pulsating sound, the rhythm of the ground beneath her. Eat or dance indeed. Look at this delicious crawler, this delightful surprise, it wiggles its wormy body while the arpeggios echo out over the clearing, plump, full of juice, to the brim.
The trees were overfull. Daybreak broke without a nook for Tessa to rest within. She flew in circles losing track of where one loop ended and the next begun, crazed by the sunlight, by the sudden absence of dark, angry at Meredith, who pushed her out into the cool crisp morning without the shadow of the branches to mask her body beneath, to bask in the stillness.
How rarely she finds herself in the morning sun. How strange it is to land in a meadow. So much of her time she is hidden, still and ready to attack, ready to swoop up another nocturnal animal.
“We,” the worm interrupts her in mid-thought, “are not long for the day.”
“I have a proposition,” slurs the worm.
“Go on,” Tessa, lisps through her wet beak.
“I would like to ask you… to dance with me.”
Tessa darts back, exposed. Could this wormy read her thoughts? Is it aware of her intentions?
“It is the good stuff after all,” interrupts the worm again. “So go on and wiggle with me. We aren’t supposed to be here. We’re creatures of the night and the bars are all closed. Dance with me, you feathered, flying thing.”