long fingers in dark shadows

They blend into the shadows but I can see their fingers.

The fingers are easiest to spot, though they can be difficult to distinguish from the tree branches.

I think that’s why they like the trees. Camouflage for limb-branches, gossamer-robe autumn leaves and long, curling finger-twigs.

They rustle the dry leaves when they move in a way that is almost identical to the innocent wind, but if I listen carefully I can tell the difference.

They sound heavier. Heavier and hollow.

I rely more on the sound because they’ve learned how to play tricks on my eyes. They’ll let me catch a glimpse of a hand over my shoulder to make me think they’re farther away when in reality they’re right behind me.

If I’m not careful they reach out and run their fingertips along my spine.


About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

Go top