“Cabin In The Woods” by John Zaccheo (no copyright infringement intended)

In through the cabin window, out through the open door, mingled with fireplace smoke, and dust motes. I catch on the side of the table, glint off the lantern, and bounce off of the man’s reading glasses, blinding the woman in tangled sheets. I’m out, flying, free, waking, catching up bird song, swirling along. I hear a loon’s cry, see an eagle’s silent circle, as I rush down, whispering around jackets, skin, oars, and the braids of the occupants of the canoe. One lifts her head, bandanna brilliant blue; I kiss her soft cheek, I think she notices. I puff up, rising higher, laughing, flaming, growing, pulsing, racing to the pines. Their straight, regal selves pointed Heavenward, I swish through, rustling, a pungent, spicy, familiar, friendly smell greats me. Shafts shimmer through, resting next to my blaze of a brother, Fire. Voices a few steps away, backpacks, tin coffee cups, and grease clings to the air. I plunge on through it all, giddy and galloping. A new day is here. Good morning, it’s me. Your Star, the Sun.

{Our writer’s group assignment was to write something using Zaccheo’s painting as inspiration and to be aware of our five senses. This above is my piece. Others in the group had poetry and stories. It was such a delightful exercise.}