Little Red



There was a woods once. I think. I remember small cottage with leaded glass and filtered light. Warm bread and smiles that bound. It was a different Forrest if soft animals with kind intent. I remember that forest even here where pine smells sharp as blood and the air dark with hunt and joy. Berries dark and red grow can make you sleep for a hundred years if you are not careful. Men hairier then beasts can make your blood pound faster then your steps. It is a different forest here on a path between homes. I will find warmth and safety when I arrive but not now. Not yet with the stain of berries on my lips and a still racing heart. 

Story and illustration by Monica Michelle