It’d sat through the night on top of the fence separating the backyard from an empty plot of grass where it usually ate its fill. A tiny patter broke the silence; spreading like water ripples from beneath a battered bench. Mouse? Maybe. Conveniently disengeged by methodological inventions, it turned tail and let all pass.

Published by Morten Mølgaard

cand.mag i engelsk og dansk, litteraturnørd og formidler.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *