impending doom in fluffy coats

The fence won’t hold, when it comes down to it.

Everyone knows this—the fear is of when and not of if—but it is not a subject for discussion.

The fence is only the semblance of protection. A gesture. A symbol.

Better than nothing.

Easier than meeting death head on.

When the sheep get hungry enough, it will be nothing to them to break it.

They will crush the rusted barbed wire between their teeth like young grass.

And we’ll be next.


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

Categories: flax-golden