The first call of a coyote broke the reverie. Maia had been writing a poem about hawks, trying to fit in the word “pierce”, when the eerie sound came, soon answered by a second coyote.
“Shit!”
Here she was, two miles from her car, in the woods at dusk with her trusty dachshund, a nice meal for a coyote. The sun was setting, turning the hedgerow that fantastic red that only happens at dusk in the winter. How she would love to sit and savor that color, maybe try to capture it in writing! But no, time to run - coyotes about!
She hurried through the abandoned apple orchard, grabbing a frozen apple for the ride home, when she came upon the truck. It was hidden in the trees just inside the wooded area, near the narrow bridge that she had no choice but to cross. It hadn’t been here when she came this way earlier, and there was no sign of the driver.
She longed for her last pooch Solimar. This dachshund would be no help at all in an attack!
Her guard went up.
I typed for exactly 5 minutes and did a 17 second proofread after the timer went off. Such a rush! Delightful experience. Thank you for reading.