It caught my eye during a routine morning.
I was mowing the lawn and I saw it.
My friend always says “Gina, you’ve got bionic eyes.”
I believed it that day.
Once I got closer; I saw it was an axe.
Polished maple wood handle, an edge so sharp it sang out a slicing tone which cut through the silent autumn wind.
The Orchid Oak Tree was particularly menacing this morning; it boasted its immensity on days that were going to be stale, eventless.
Everyone around the town would picnic around the hill it was perched upon.
Lest it release agents that produced stinging nightmares.
But this axe… I wonder.
«It’s in your hands» a thought runs up my spine; tickling the tips of my fingers.
Another gush of wind. I squint my eyes.
Bending down and lifting it up.