From the topmost branch the owl bore witness over the years to everything she touched turning to dust. Occasionally a foreign wind would bestow the desolate landscape with a new seed. But she could not resist caressing any sprout that dared show it’s pinprick head. Their vitality provided her a few moments of ecstasy before mutating into ash.
A life surrounded by death only fueled her longing for love. For three long days she had watched a cat play in the trees until she could no longer resist the urge to hold him. She continued to embrace his lifeless body for it was all she had. Desperately believing it was still incarnated with his soul, she hung it from the tree so he could continue to enjoy the view from the branches.
An elated mood turned up the corners of her mouth as she slipped her best dress onto her bony frame. With feedback from her imagination alone, she felt beautiful for her date with a man who had met his fate traveling by and naively shaking her hand. Her vestigial blood was still in denial of her barrenness, and she wore it proudly as her only adornment, evidence of her near humanness. She whistled an airy accompaniment to the creaking tree corpses and began to dance with his remains. She spun, and his skinless hand fell off into her own. She seemed flattered and told him he was sweet.