Jane, et al: No dragon microfiction in me this week. So some prosetry fragments and musings about dragons, sans golden egg. I’ve enjoyed the other dragon tales I’ve read. (Photo ©Grantscharoff)

                                                                         Could it be . . .

leathery wings

pattern of light and dark as a cloud passes over the garden

hot breath

faint whiff of brimstone in fetid, still, humid air

spiked tail

prick finger on thorns of rose and berry bushes

scaled, scared skin

weather-worn hands; time-worn apron

I flew with the dragons,      once

Skraeling    through   Woods

along Farbeyond Shores

            o’er 

Grislebane Mountains

wind in my braids

sun on my skin

clouds in my mouth

hold tight, hold tight

     head to head, neck to neck

feel the power

work sinew and flap down

          work muscle and flap up

kite sail, tail down and

                     we roll, roll, roll

                              my breath behind me

now my life behind me

shadow passes, radiant circle

could it be . . .

 

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