NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Day 24 — The Scarecrow
(with apologies to Wallace Stevens and his Snowman) The Scarecrow Mutely standing in a field of fallow stubble, bending on the loam, one’s mind is a business of musing the morning sun to rise. Bold mice scurry through holes in boots, tickling would-be toes of would-be feet and climbing through knees of overalls that, overall have seen brighter days. Sparrows puff from red flannel seams-- brown-feathered breath calling to starling hands that wish to rub pale straw moths from hollow sockets that stare the stars from the sky. One has hopes of scaring someone--anyone--and listens without ears to hear all that is not there and the one thing that is.