Last week’s entry to Friday Fictioneers was a few days late, so I’m making up for it this week by posting a day early. Makes sense, right?
The recent weird weather across the country and around the world has had me thinking a bit about how nature shows warning signs before disasters occur. Tides receding before tsunamis, bulges forming before volcanoes blow, that sort of thing.
Add those thoughts to the picture, and you get this.
When the poppies began to bloom on that cold December morning, we knew something was wrong.
Poppies are the herald of summer; they’re supposed to shine in the hot, heady days of July, not three days before the longest night of the year – and yet there they were, orange faces turned toward the ice-blanketed sun.
Then the animals began to turn. One by one, each horse shied and fled through the open barn door, disappearing into the hills. The pigs screamed in their pens, the chickens stopped laying.
We heard the bell ringing a full minute before the earth split open.