A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills.
— Carl Sandburg, from Jazz Fantasia
A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills. My head tilts just so and I swear the hills are moving like a great dark beast; a shadowy twin of my guilt, following. Red rippling water radiates from the far side of the river; accusation calling from the cabin. I hurry along and away from my sin, stumbling on the narrow path through the dunegrass. He’ll be home soon and the table isn’t set.
The moon hides behind clouds as his work boots clump along the wooden porch to the door and he enters.
“Good evening, Father.”
He sits quietly at the kitchen table, head bowed, waiting for me to serve him crockpot stew, biscuits, and a glass of port.
After dinner, as I clear the table, he smells the scent of blood and looks up, head swiveling toward me.
Lillian is today’s host at dVerse. Lillian says:
The prompt is to include either the line “a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills” OR the line “moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops” in a piece of prose (not poetry) that is 144 words or less. The two lines are from Carl Sandburg’s poem JAZZ FANTASIA – you’ll find his full poem here.