The Angel of the Puppies
Stories (2/0)
O
Like a bird on the wire, Like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free. --Leonard Cohen I. To wake in a grassy bed, doused in dew, and feel the whispering wind on her skin. To see the angelic wings of the barn owl that nested in the bell tower unfurl as the bird took flight. These were experiences The Oracle longed for. She had read about them in the books the sisters sometimes passed to her beneath the heavy door of her chamber. The sisters sometimes allowed her to walk in the convent’s stone-walled, candlelit corridors, but never the garden. Still, on breezy nights, she could smell its secrets. Sometimes, a sweet scent drifted to her. “Honeysuckle,” the ancient, wizened sister told her once, and in an uncharacteristic act of kindness, hobbled back the next day bearing flowering branches from a bush to prove her point.
By The Angel of the Puppies2 years ago in Fiction