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the state of my severed hands
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Moose.
my nymphetamine girl !
Today was much clearer than the few before it. Kansas had been listening to the rain pounding on the roof the night before until it had suddenly ceased. He liked the sound, but it had been keeping him awake. He consequentially was tired now, his eyelids heavy. But he didn't want to waste the beautiful day asleep. He'd chosen a book from his small stack on the floor of his and Savina's room, and now walked with it tucked under his arm toward the lake. A gentle breeze rustled his fur, smelling of the rain of the night before.
Before long he had reached the lake, and paused a moment to watch its surface ripple in the calm wind. He was surprised to hear a bit of birdsong, another reminder that spring had arrived. Kansas didn't care as much about the changing season as he did about the promise it had to him: his puppies were coming soon. With that boyish grin of his, he moved to the treeline alongside the lake and looked around for a dry place to sit. Finally, the boy found a pile of damp needles and, after brushing them aside for the dry earth beneath, reclined against the tree and opened his book.
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