Northward |
Issue 18
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A man astride his horse
gazes across the lakeshore from under tufted fur. Both solid as stone though ragged and spent. The horse would look white on any other plane yet here cream as bone. Pressing upon the open lake thick slabs of clear glass reside. Cowberry cheeked children carried by the herd bundled in their wooden cradles. The women give them offerings shavings of frosted fish Fuel against the remnant chill cutting down from the tundra. A jaded horse straggles collapsing under the weight of his crooked back. A small group rushes to gather his valued flesh before the wanting eagles swoop. Once all is collected the clan nod in unison. Heads turn north. As one moving creature they trudge on. |
BRYN WOOD is a writer based in Cyprus whose work explores varied styles and approaches. Writing, a relatively recent passion shaped by chronic illness, serves as both an outlet and a means of engaging with the world, human experience, and all its complexities.
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