Down on the dark soiled plains
Grassy plateau frosted with marshmallow flowers
An occasional Bittary tree, glowing under the deep full moons
The giant planet would rise soon
Blue, dark in places, white clouds streaming across is
It was a sight that never grew old
It would rise every Friday, not setting for a whole week
Are they even Friday’s here?
Scuttled under the Bittery tree, I would wait until sunrise to move again
The flock of red, cow like animals that I pretended to look after would sit nearby. Most of them heavily pregnant
Then at midnight, or whatever it was here… a noise
I woke from the daze like meditation I had entered to see a pack of cat like beasts in the long grass creeping up on the flock
I had to alarm, squeaking in a noise that would wake even the heaviest of the sleeping dead
Run
Run
Run
To escape
