tmbt: wishing well
There’s a well in the backyard that runs about a hundred miles deep. One day I was flitting around back there with my long skirts and wind-blown cheeks and heard the echo from below. I let the wind blow me closer and gazed into the blackness. There, I heard a faint melody as if a child were singing. Winding, floating, rising up it found me from below, a trick of the breeze, perhaps, but a song nonetheless I know because when it reached my heart, there was a little pop in my chest. The domino effect fell up and out my eyes, dropping heavily towards the water below.
What are tears to a well? I did not think much until the song tilted in the direction of words. A small, sweet, shy “thank you” fell up towards me as if out from under lowered lashes and above folded hands. Then the well was silent. The wind died down. And the flitting turned to solid steps back towards the house.