this tragic affair

In the subtle warmth of the spring sun the old man finds that his eyes have become heavy and darkness swallows him as he closes them to rest. He is not himself lately. He is tired. He is stiff. His duties have suffered. Yet he has not realized this truth and he is content to rest his cumbersome body for the time being. Hi. the voice stirs him. Lids and ears both flutter and struggle towards awareness. His neck slowly cranes towards the woman and a gentle smile carves his face. Hello! he greats eagerly. Circe made her breakfast of the hare you left at our den. Thank you. His tail drags slowly across the ground as if making space for the woman beside him. He is struck with confusing sentiments and memories of their relationship.





Whether the movement was mechanical or intended is unknown to him. He lays half watching her and half entrapt in the glimpses of what once was. The memory of a smile. Laughter. The feeling of soft fur. Disagreements. A vacant stare. Violence. It suddenly dawns upon him that he is old. In a couple years he will die. His body is at last asking for rest that his restless soul will not allow. The man's head turns away and falls slowly upon the ground before him, half resting on his forelimbs. Thinking and not thinking at the same time.

Table by Azil