Asakiyume mita

When I went out this morning, the sun was just leaving its nest of trees on the horizon-woods, shining golden white. Stretched across the sky were the white ghost-bones of some giant fish, an ancestor fish--the waters of morning revealed those bones. At the houses playing host this Thanksgiving Day, cars were clustered quietly, like sleeping pups or kittens. High up in a tree somewhere, one bird was calling; on the ground, just a few leaves and chipmunks were scurrying.

I found a golden fairy shoe, so tiny, but I was running, so I didn't stop to pick it up. If it's still there later in the day, and I get a chance before taking my portion of the feast to my brother's house, I will take a picture.

ETA: Two pictures of the fairy shoe--the second is to show how tiny it is.

The trees and hills slip on the morning light like a beautiful garment:



The enchanted thorns who reach out with their spiked arms to grab you glow with arterial warmth:



Where the people live, a horned snowman raises his arms--all hail the new year!