Vita Divine, Lucid Gardener

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #235. Poetry is the usual rule of the venue, but the community is generous and welcoming. Come share!

They had voted against keeping chickens in these suburban yards during the last election, but Vita could hear neighbor’s birds, restless and outspoken as the neighbors. She could also hear the tiny chick that someone had left just under the hand of the statue in her garden, trying to inform it’s family of its location. It had been sitting quietly until it noticed Vita. Those kids probably assumed it was St. Francis rather than the Rambler when they snuck it into her backyard. Everyone assumes the pomegranates are apples and my yard a metaphor for Eden. She leaned against old fence section she’d converted into a plant stand and stared at the bird, who stared back at her. That one knows who’s protecting her. Vita wasn’t sure whether she or her garden could claim any protection from the saints of Green House. Fae saints weren’t into that.

This week's submission is slightly different, owing to my working through my NaNo projects this month. The above is the beginning of a short story inspired by my being more interested in the bottles in the wine store than the wine (it all tastes like medicine to me). I ended up walking the aisles and writing down the names that caught my eye for use during November's daily writing efforts. They seem to have, in combination with this week's prompt, turned into the potential apotheosis of a singularly worried suburban chick, who may or may not hold the fate of her family in her tiny beak. We'll see how it goes. Chickens, by the way, are another creature that scares me more than I should admit. Deer, chickens, coyotes, and stray story ideas that turn out to be more feral than tame. 

Hope you're having a cozy November, perhaps plenty of cocoa and good music and a furry book close to hand. :)

-- Chrissa