This too will dissolve, the gypsy said. A lark. Renee didn't believe in prophecy, but she was unsettled none the less. Outside the tent, the carnival rambled on, raucous and full of smells, from foods to the hay underfoot. She twisted her engagement ring lightly. Next, the hall of mirrors.
Ochre Idyls
Poems, Haiku/Tanka, Short Fictions