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by Beth W. Patterson
Why is the flora on my family’s land suddenly so much thicker?
The sharp cry of a baby freezes me in my tracks. If someone abandoned a child, I have to make sure that it doesn’t die.
Wriggling on a bed of ferns is an infant girl. But the most unsettling thing is the birthmark on her cheek. It’s identical to my own.
The figure stepping into the clearing could pass for an old photograph of my mother as a young woman.
My eyes are reflected in her dagger. Her wings unfold as she croons, “Now the cycle begins again.”
Beth W. Patterson
Beth W. Patterson was a full-time musician for over two decades before diving into the world of writing. She is the author of the books “Mongrels and Misfits” and “The Wild Harmonic” and a contributing writer to over thirty anthologies. Patterson has performed in nineteen countries and never sleeps.