The Reaper

The Reaper, hair and skin blackened with charcoal from the ritual fire, crouched an arm’s length from the jungle path. Beneath the broad leaves of the banana bush she was invisible. She had been stalking for days and knew the habits of the ones she sought. Her prey would pass this way soon. They would follow this trail to the water’s edge to fill their skins. The male and female with their young . A boy. The Harvest.

Her nimble fingers went first to her tongue then ran slowly along the thin edge of a black feather, gifted from her Token Spirit and woven tightly into her pulled back hair. The crow had chosen her, had been her guide, her strength, her determination through the challenges, tests and trials leading to her selection as Reaper.

She was the first of her kind, a spirit-child, a Harvest, a female. The first to be chosen for the sacred task. The first in three generations. It was an honor to be sure, but had she not earned it? Yes! She had no doubt. Her Spirit Guide had never failed her. And she would not fail her people.

It was The Way of the five tribes. It was The Way of peace. In the time before, there had been war and suffering. They had nearly destroyed themselves. But the Harvest had saved them. Now war was no more and the tribes lived in The Way. The Gods, who feared the destruction of the people, had delivered The Way to the Shamans. And now she, Kaidyn, was Reaper and the time for Harvest had come.

She would take the young male from this path and disappear into the jungle. The others would not follow. It was The Way. In gratitude, she would rename him for her Token Spirit. She would call him Rook.

The Poet

Whose laptop is that? I think I know.
Its owner’s not so happy though.
For on it he works like a drone
Getting that Carpal Tunnel Thingydrome

The laptop bounces on his knees
Fingers clacketing on the keys
He gives it such a thorough shake
He laughs until his belly aches

Is he writing an adventure?
Or suffering from advanced dementia?
No wonder those around him look
For laptops never should be shook

Chided as a loud contrarian
He’s scolded by the bold librarian
She won’t endure his poppycock
He blushes claiming writer’s block

rdfindlay copyright 2019


In the drive thru line at Starbucks

a ladybug landed on my windshield

While I waited for my macchiato she walked slowly across my window

forcing her tiny legs through the condensation

As I drove away she clung to the smooth glass

even as the rushing air swept away

the droplets of water around her

Miles later I parked at my office

and still she held tight.

I left her there

Returning moments later

remembering some forgotten thing

I found her motionless drenched in dew

Is she even alive I thought

I extended a finger and gave her a nudge

Tumbling down the windshield

she came to rest on the wiper-blade, motionless

My heart sank

Then she open her shell and was carried away on tiny wings.

rdfindlay copyright 2019