Unto silence

Voices boomed overhead while the little ones hid. They made plans, rules, and regulations to keep the little ones in order. The little ones hid and wrote down their tales of treachery. For example, they told stories about running around nude in the woods, trespassing at Old Man Carter's pond, sampling Miss Trudy's blueberries, petting the baby cows. They became a curtain of cobwebs and English ivy. They would pluck and saw across a taut bough of vines. So what if they came from another planet? They had big fingernails, high arches, lightened eyes, darkened thoughts, expansive histories, eggshell hearts, bear souls, narrowing hips, strong calves, lake hair, blond coffee, ruddy soup, egg-less omelettes, sparkling pens, scarred knuckles, torn fabric, patient dreams, screaming muses, elastic wombs, lug-nut will, country song moments, symphonic hours, desperate arias, desolate code, gloved hopes, thrust-ed opinions, shotgun spirits. They collided like galaxies, colluded like ghosts, coalesced like mules. Unified they twist-tied the ocean waves, cantor-ed the tombs, rushed to the drop. Booming voices be damned.