Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

AW :)

the morning was soft, like a ripe peach left out in the sun.
mist clung to the earth in thin, silken layers, and dew freckled the long grass like stars fallen down to rest.
eulie dawn stood in the plains thicket, head tilted just so, eyes half-lidded in that dreamy way she wore like a veil.
her coat, all russet and cream, shimmered faintly where the light kissed it. the birds had gathered—small ones, round ones, feathered things with beady eyes and curious hearts. they perched along the low branches, chirping, twitching, still.
then she began to sing.
not loud, not boastful, but low. haunting.
a covey song, pulled from old bones and river wind. her voice slipped between the branches, curling over the feathers and blossoms, threading through the quiet.
little bones, little bones, laid beneath the pine,
whistle through your hollow hearts and keep me in line—
sky broke open, storm rolled through,
but i kept the song that i promised you.
one of the birds fluttered its wings. another tilted its head. a third, bold as brass, hopped closer to her paw.
eulie dawn smiled, barely there. she kept singing, soft and sure, like a ghost remembering a name.
sing me through the orchard, sing me past the stream,
where the dead don’t sleep and the lost still dream.
her tail twitched, slow, thoughtful. her eyes were far away—like she could see something no one else could.
and maybe she could.