The hare and the frog

Lazily i lounged against a half decayed log, my bare breasts exposed to the hot sun. Something stirred in the swamp water and I took a deep breath and gave a quick prayer of thanks to the goddess. There werent many days like this anymore. Beautiful sunny days, nothing to do days, watching the clouds roll by kind of days.

My days were now filled with work. Little pieces of my soul were being sucked away hour by hour in the steaming, stinking, dark, factory that was my life. Stifling, sweaty, boring as fuck.

Most people think the swamp is a steaming mess of hot air and mud. But if they spent any time at all by her banks, they would know she is teeming with life. And the air wraps around you like a blanket. The mud heals. The water nurtures.

A pair of wood ducks floated quietly between the reeds. A ladybug landed on my chest. Dark clouds rolled in and cast heavy shadows over the swampy landscape. Damn. There goes my day.

I slipped my light pink dress over my head and wrapped my black cloak over my head and body. The rain would come suddenly.

The sandy trail leading to the main road, barely visible in the new summer growth, lay before me but I froze when i saw an odd shape out of the corner of my eye. I pivoted on one heel.