Forgotten armadillos-- victims of the Sun’s beaming face—litter the entrance along the highway, like desiccated corn husks. The horizon, a New Age pastiche of shades whose names I never learned from the simple colours of my youth.
Three-hundred-and-sixty degrees of virescence disguises wildlife: scornful mockingbirds, grunting coypu; the midnight baby-rattle of timber snakes.
Momentary lapses of solitude broken only by your imposing body heat
a reminder that I have an accomplice to this intimate encounter with nature.
df parizeau is a pushcart nominated, french-canadian writer, who has more teeth in his mouth than the average adult. his work has been featured online and in print by a smattering of publications. he has a firm belief in the 3-0 curveball and that cherry is the best pie. Twitter: @belowtheeaves, Website: dfparizeau.com.