Blackwater Islands CHIM

there is nothingness.

or rather, what feels like nothingness.

existence and their awareness of it comes in slow waves. the first touch of the air across their wet fur. a violent shiver.

the brush of their mother’s tongue.

warmth.

the vibration of their cry as it tears itself free.

i am here. i am alive. it seems to say.

the warmth that rapidly envelops them as they are guided to their mother’s side and latch on beside the small body against their’s.

a sibling.

the sweet warm taste of mothersmilk as it fills their belly.

and then there is the oilslick nothingness of dreams as they drift off to sleep.