Precipice

Day by day it’s getting colder and darker, a phenomenon the giant is well acquainted with. She wants to stride around breaking off tree limbs for firewood but she can’t because she’s stuck in a barn. She wants to retreat to the lower level of a cave where the cold has difficulty seeping in but again with the barn, a drafty place which might as well, the giant thinks with disgust, have no walls at all, the way the wind just blows through the cracks, the way the stark fall sun just shines through the knotholes. She windmills her arms to warm up but you can’t do that all day. What can you do all day?

this is the church
this is the steeple
crescent moon

It begins to come to her, during her long hours of captivity, that she isn’t actually a captive. She came here, so she could go back. But she knows many stories now and she knows how rare it is for things to end well for giants.

trembling aspen only one life left

She sits windmilling and drawing and pondering as the earth tilts farther away from the sun, and then one day the barn door opens a crack. She looks up, expecting to see the woman, her bearer of stories and sustenance. Instead—she can just barely tell, because the low sun is flooding in behind him and dazzling her—it’s a man. A red man. He looks at her, says nothing, closes the door, and she knows that the bad things that happen to giants can no longer be avoided.

fall leaves
fall leaves

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