Isobel Terry

Sheep.

At the garden party I watched her closely as she sheeped across the grass, others followed in a line. They made a muddy track that I will later assume is recognised pathway. I sheepishly encounter you now alone in a the green house. You have been separated from the rest. Your eyes dart from side to side,maybe you fear I may kill you. I boldly place my hand on your shoulder to reassure you that that is not my intention. It sinks into your soft creamy yellow jacket a bit grey with grime. After I smell wax on my palms. You look up startled and your cool intelligent eyes, grey banded agate and amber  say to me ‘ Never forget your vocation, your lineage from your mothers maiden name, never forget who cares for our flock ‘.She seemed to know that I wandered in search of green pastures, she seemed to know my hidden destiny.’ I pause, sheeping out into the sunlight scattered on the lawn. I leap in the lightness of her recognition. The lamb in me is still alive.

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