The forest smelt fresh and damp after the light spring rain. Birds chirped overhead as a squirrel climbed up a twig covered in large green buds. She planted her feet in the moss and concentrated on the music in her head. A spring tune; lively and growing.
She took a deep breath and began.
As the ear-rending screech left her lips two blue tits, a blackbird and a squirrel fell to the ground. She stopped and looked at the critters. Then she nudged one of the small stiff bodies with her foot.
A thought fluttered around her head that maybe banshees were just not meant to be opera singers.
Widdershins
/ December 20, 2013Heh, heh, heh … maybe she just needs to sing to a different audience.
W. R. Woolf
/ December 20, 2013Perhaps an audience with cotton wads in their ears…