I first saw you in a mighty forest among an endless sea of trees. Your leaves were backlit blushing red and though your beauty made time freeze I could hear you creak.
East of a little town and down out past the hedges and burrows and scarlet-veined ivy there are two tobacco brown rivers that slit the soil and as they roll off into a backdrop of innumerable golden bushels of wheat and grain and pebbled soybeans there lies a treasured slice of triangulated land that sways rhythmically and sweet beneath the swarms of larks and teals and red breasted mergansers and they all funnel into a conflux where starlings swirl and trails amalgamate and muddy waters gurgle…
Inside this inner bubble, the world floats by, bobbling.
Claire is misunderstood by all. She’s a black sheep, an outlaw, a high-heeled gunslinger.