Snapshots from the Life of a Man who must Work for a Living – 2

Little winged things flitted out of the undergrowth then back in to some dark space that was their own. He surmised that all hollows must end somewhere, the centre of the earth perhaps and wished he was small enough to scoot after them, to grab twig and leaf and pebble, shaking nothing loose, disturbing no wind, into a hole in the ground that had always been there, always shaped just right to house him and no other.

 He stood, he smoked, he stared until the hunger in his belly was a warm languor that spread itself all over his bones, sliding eel-like under his skin until he felt himself an unbroken hill where the earth’s molten heart exhaled fumes through cavernous veins. He wondered if he should call someone but the light grew darker and besides, he had a meeting in 15 minutes. Enough for one more cigarette and a last thrown back look at trees flailing at an armada of gathering clouds.

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