Carriáge

The wooden and finely ornamented wheels rolling hard over the pebbles that lie over the dirt road, ‘Tidbit’ the horse hound trotting along, a clicker and a thump sounding inside the wagon. A can of dried fruit is opened for a delectable treat, the clipity-clop of the horses echoing through the surrounding forest. And eyes cast over them, watching as they slide past an old rotten tree that hangs loose over the path. The mist of the morning calming the dirt as it sits under the passing thumps and kicks the horses’ produce, the wind soothing the heat of the sun that rises from the east. Past the evening and past the afternoon, it’s now night time. The sun hiding in the west, the stars shining above and the moon gleams a smile. The thoroughfare is blocked, not a barricade but a stop, the horses neigh and a bark is heard, seated not a worry but a sigh, voices resound and steps are taken. Doors on each side maintain their closure, but a balance is undone and the wagon lost a son. The horses hey and the dog barks. Will is drawn but power is unveiled.