They frolic eight thousand feet above air sailing the east winds on the back of Aether’s Favorite horse.
Whizzing over plains to foothills, they dance through a breeze whispered by the sea above, the devotions of silver waters.
Coolness turns its path into a shadow where a gull hovers over pastoral tranquility stained like flecks of paper, under water, under sky.
Tonight they will traipse the moon with impish bare feet, haunted by the whiff and tang of fresh rosemary.
They will smear the phosphor runways and bubble their way through covens of puckered-up lupine, waiting to be kissed.
Scents of complex music, jiggle and clink as they navigate through flattened earth and chain-link fences leaving trails of yellow feet stained with dandelion-smudge.
Together they will land back at the picnic grounds where their imagination once took flight under the minarets of the iron-oxidized sun.
Together they will eat chicken and tally the bones as marshmallow trickles down from their lips. And as the children that they are, they will remember that the same pain from loneliness that closes our hearts, opens us again.
Theresa likes to write about matters of self-inflection and personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of an idyllic, pagan nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be a witch and a poet, (within the horror writing community) and she has been published in a number of magazines throughout the years.