april 27

sudden sunburst and bubbles light and symphony of sheep being called in, fed, gathered, we hid- in the pool of the sunken pond hoping for concealment, at the end of the pond that holds old skulls comforting now like the bone we are and they are, water in funny rhythms around my feet shifting and sussing it all out but there is a horrific sheep carcass turned inside out ribs ripped its head a mutilated ingrown lump whether defined or mulched I can’t tell. We wait beneath the roar of sheep and lambs disturbed and called, distressed no, bellowing, I leave my feet in mud feeling slow gain of cold. C looks like a seer our sunken pool feels like a strange hidden hopeful place where we will pass unnoticed maybe not today, feels like a watershed a farmer is so close we wait hunched and still- the silouhettes of sheep and lambs just looping around us if we escape being seen it will be a miracle. Held hostage by sheep, lambs, feeding, farmer we hope for a sort of sanctuary that we can be here much like the bones, unseen, blending, becoming part of the place, I can only hope –

there is a large new sheep dead and disfigured lying on the far edge the start of another long process back to the bone but it is not the long sleeping of our first returnings these are brutal deaths, after births, manglings, a different sort of death and devouring. I ache a bit from smalling up and being inconspicuous, still the loud chanting goes on around us one lamb looks at us expectantly everything begins to deepen – a long call slightly piercing as a searcher ambushes others to find their own or not to find

I feel this is  could be the death throes of our being here, if we are found can we come back


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