Updated: Oct 31, 2021
Written in straw
Back to "Writing Exercise"
Heras world in now ash. A mathematician without so much as ink and paper.
All she has now is weeds. Straw to be.
But the need. Oh the need. To write. To calculate.
"Mom! We're safe now. why are you crying?"
Her son. Molière. After the playwright, not misspelling the candelabra's name.
He's in denial. For now.
Now, to go the their, laughable, approximation, of a barn.
She takes cut grass, for compost. And ties it.
She makes it.
It only took three months, incredulous.
The Echo of her ideas is reflected back to her...
On the straw.
Originally posted on twitter.