Emptied Eyes {Fawns}

Emptied Eyes { Fawns }

“Would you feed on men of the East, dear, or the West?” the oldest sister asked steadily, emphatically, an inquisitive bend in her wrist as she combed her sisters’ oatsap hair. Said the youngest sister to the eldest wind of their prairie homestead in her rueblossom voice;

“In my heart I feel a fondness for the Northern beings. I like the way they play their flutes; like they truly are the flute themself.”

“Gentlemen of the Demisphere South,” creeped in an exalted and arcane vibrato; the middle sister with raven-hair, “are appealing and attractive beyond any direction aforementioned in this fratricidal and fruitless forum.”

Before the eldest sister could shoo away the middle sister, as if a tarantula swept off the porch with a broom, the youngest sister pointed far off and nearby to the Northern horizon and open fields. The Eldest sister gazed out in the direction her youngest sister pointed and grew wholly, statuesquely, still.

The middle sister blew smoke from her nostrils, infatuated with the dragons in her head. She looked to the east.

Three sisters mesmerized. In every direction the locusts silently chirped. Barley bowing and rising in the Wind. Bowing and rising in the wind; the three sisters. The three sisters; bowing and rising, playing flutes, in every direction. In the Wind three sisters, in every direction three sisters; fawns, with flutes. Three sisters on a porch; still.