The cloud woman flicked her plumed tail and leapt from the mountain top, spreading broad smoky wings, gliding over ochre desert, searching. She harnessed a light west wind and skimmed the plain with its slumbering cacti and dry gullies. Dusk turned the ochre to orange and sleepy brown—the sand slept. High, between the tall black hills, the sun peered, wolves called out the message, and he threw a stray golden beam into the darkening sky.
Continue reading at Jane Dougherty Writes