The molten sun melts like liquid gold over the small town. Scattered
Homes with curtains pulled wide dot the land. Children
run rampant, and
birds spill their souls through their songs.

She exists beside the forest in a solitary house, whose
Walls shed flakes of red, whose
Chimney spits out acrid smoke all summer long.
Curtains in barred windows forever impede the way of sunshine.

Every spring, residents of the town pass by, with
Scrunched brows and curious stares.

And, every spring they find her
Hunched over amongst the rustling trees
In the same floral sun dress
Painting the landscape.

With each stroke,
She coats the leaves of the forest in red paint
Leaf by leaf, tree by tree
Until everything is bloody