It was a bitter moon. A pocked half-survivor in a terrible sky. But the moon around her was so much sadder. In the tall ancestral house beyond her, the vicious voices – filled with lost longings and ancient recriminations – continued their loud discussion. Here she lay against the sweet grass where the dew had not yet collected and thought of a silly, forlorn, and never-come dream. The voices became too much after a while, so she rose, straightened her cotton dress, and walked along the rambling garden path, her hands behind her back. Frail reeds cast picket shadows across the loose earth of the old path. There had been roses here once, and the scent of summer clover, so warm to lie against, their white blossoms dotting the long green knoll. Now she walked through an emotional Stonehenge. Back then, Poppsy had been a young ball of white fluffy fur bounding through the grass, foolishly chasing the meadow mice, its little pink tongue hot, small, and affectionate as it returned from its run.
What do You think about The Moon Around Sarah (2013)?
