Hoarfrost and moss

She lowered her tongue, curling the edges and forcefully spat. The gob burst on the pavement a story below the viewing deck with a modestly satisfying thwack. Her shoulders remained tense however as she jammed her fists into the pockets of her slate down vest. Ursula burrowed into the vest as she unhappily scanned the wetland before her. It was late in the year for many birds.

The last rumor to reach her said the werewolf had been near the border in late October. With her furrowed brow she cursed him. As though her blind, uncomprehending animosity might have any effect on him whatsoever. With a huff of clouded breath, she pivoted and climbed down the ladder. She stalked down the wooden boardwalk into the swamp, the malcontented rhythm of her footfall frightening off any remaining wildlife.

The cottonwoods clattered paper dry skeletal leaves at her in rebuke and she huffed again. Yellowed grass rustled only slightly and she stopped in the utter silence of dusk stirring its foggy digits over the water. She squinted at the dying sun and glanced down at her Grandpa’s dusty binoculars, resting over her belly. Screwing her eyes shut tight, Ursula put down an impulse to stomp her foot like a child. She listened. It was quiet still. Winter had come, werewolf or no. Winter had come and she was glad.

November Thunder

She felt the energy on her ride home.
It was going to storm tremendously.
In about an hour.
Her blood stood up and answered and she wanted a midnight adventure.
Looking from the sullen ruby cloud ceiling and the lights over the bridge, she glanced down on the glittering parking lot and saw the werewolf walking at a distance.
The wind kicked up and the paper factory on the river glowed behind the trees.
“Florescent lights engage, blackbirds frying on a wire,” she hummed.
Vertigo was building up behind her eyes like a migraine.

All over the coast

The eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleburg nailed her in the solar plexus and for a moment green lights at the end of docks swum before her. Smiling winningly, she breathlessly stepped past him. To her horror her heart was pounding like a panicked bird trapped in a house, making her thoughts into zeppelins colliding and tangling themselves up in their haste to stay out of reach of the gorilla scaling the tower.
At the end of the week, she revisited drives to Toledo and Detroit in winter. She marveled over how much significance a silent phone could have. So restless, she shifted through the ashes of friendships one more time. As ever, her hands shook, and her weary eyes watched the horizon of a clear sky with mistrust. The loan hadn’t come through. That was disaster enough for now. She didn’t feel like doing anything, calling anyone, eating anything. Her heart lay stunned on the ground after two bouts of beating against the windowpane in a panic. She pried an ornate silver key out of the sandy soil, embedding dirt deep under her nails. Rubbing her thumb over the pattern crest she wiped it clean. She worried she would have to pawn it. And Martin Espada knew all about pawn shops.