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It ends with soil under my painted fingernails, sun sparks around me.

They’re landing in Darcy’s fur, soft like thick rain clouds.

It thunders in a clear sky, Darcy’s eyes are the sun sparks that lie in my palm.

A swallow hums a tune.

Darcy barks, taking off in the singing bird’s direction.

The faded leather leash whispers in the grass, forgotten.

Soon, though, she lets me rest my aching legs and heart.

She looks up at me, her eyes as old as she is.

“Don’t worry, Darcy,” I tell her. “You’re going home.”

The sun sparks skip across my palm.

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February 2017

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