August turned to embers and everyone fell apart. Tired bones wind chiming autumn’s rattle. It was time to leave. To lay my curiosities around me. Apricot pip. Iridescent shell and sea glass. Crab claw. Button for a long, lost jacket. A fortune, that reads Look for the dream that keeps coming back in six different languages. I don’t know what that means, but here is my wisdom— Magic is the art of wishing well. I collect. I always have. Pools of cold tea water. Words. Lately, it’s been mushroom names. Listen—Shaggy Parasol. Amethyst Deceiver. The Flirt. My friends are all preserving things in glass jars. Kombucha and sauerkraut. One day, we will be so healthy. Moth-eaten butterfly wing. Wire nest. Broken ring. My threadbare treasures. I don’t know what I keep saving you for. For something good, I hope. Hopefully something good.
Bowerbird by Iona Lee
