Becoming Big Gray

99-word Dream Art November 13, 2024

I’m all scissors and knives. Cutting. I stabbed my finger making breakfast. Hooked my sweater on the old doorframe to the basement. After spilling coffee, I trade slippers for mud-boots and rush outside to join the scampering squirrels running along the curb with full mouths. One big gray nibbles maple seeds on my garage roof. “I wanna be like you,” I say, absorbing the calm of falling leaves—slow down, Crone, what’s the hurry? Big Gray flicks her tail. I lean into my beaver stick and square my bones before the vestiges of youthfulness can cut me to smithereens.