Word Count: 100
BACK TO NATURE
The rising sun cut a crimson strip between the oak and ash. A well-sprung tuffet of moss by the stream picked up its positive vibes. Sun now. Rain later. Perfect.
All is well, called out a blackbird.
I’m the greatest, rasped the magpie.
Cawed blimey, croaked the crow.
The moss zinged from its rhizoids up through its iodine-rich gametophytes and sporophytes. It was well and truly among friends.
Or so it thought, in its elemental mossy way.
Until a humungous hairy human arse* descended like a shit-smeared moon out of nowhere, to wipe and disinfect its arse on yours truly.
[*The UK spelling. In the US, it is an ass, whether a human posterior or a domestic donkey, which presumably would make an ass’s nether region an ass ass!]