Chapter 1: Breath

"My lands are where my dead lie buried."


- Crazy Horse



The last petal fell from the last flower, from my favorite place; my favorite meadow; my only meadow. After it's last kiss from its owner; the mother of it's needs, it had fallen- where the rest of them lay, all shriveled up like a fingertip that has rested in water for many moments. But knowing one thing; it was going to die like the rest of them would. I took a slow and deep breath, a chill when through my tiny spine, therefor giving me goose bumps. There was no hiding the truth. I could hear the crumbling crunches that could be herd from several strides away. It was as if the helpless leaves were crying in despair and weakness for nourishment and health. As the same for the leaves and petals, not to mention the bare colorless grass- I was in no greater condition either. For that I was not going to live another day till the ice-rain comes- to take me with them. It was indeed a sad thought, so I couldn't bare weep in misery. I could barely breath- it was as if I didn't know how to.

On top of the blankets and sheets of rain-like-ice, if I ever make it, oh heavens if I do. I would never stand a chance against surviving a cold blooded Raccoon! Definition of a Raccoon: A hungry, four-legged, vicious creature, with sharp paws and claws; they are knives of fearless steal. They thirst, and only hunt for their thirsty needs. Oh, I can't say how outrageous these creatures can kill, for the blood, in which flesh "should" shield their blood. They live in the big ones, the homes they live in. Big ones- are tall statues of bark and wood. The cold blooded ones came normally in clans. Their eyes live long, and their tails swing endlessly. (for all I know.) They never eat or sleep-but drink. Raccoons are not easy to spot or know what they are. I mean no harm, but Raccoons aren't always cold ones. Some live peacefully and warmly around others. But ones you never see and are rather mysterious maybe the ones you have to watch your poor backs. They are beautiful to look at, but terrifying to meet in death. No one has survived an attack or meeting with one. It is devastating, but it's the hard cold facts.

I got down on Mother Nature, she welcomed me with the pleasant feeling, I knew she would. I wanted to enjoy the last few "relaxed" minutes till everything changed, and I would have to rush and collect the things I had to pick up, in preparations {for the climate change}. I rested my eyes, counting the big cotton like clouds. I got to 37... And my eyes slowly seemed like weights that refused to compromise with me -it was involuntary. After seconds of fighting- I gave in- voluntarily. Letting sleep take over.