The Shepherd Boy
Dusk begins. A yawn of lavender rolls over the hills, washes up onto the fields.
I count ten minutes until the sun sinks at the horizon, twenty before the last light slips away.
My hand above my brow shields my eyes from a final burst of gold, streaky brush strokes that break the sky into stripes of hazy yellow and purple.
The canvas of my shirtsleeve scratches against my forehead as I lean in closer, try to see over the grassy peaks in the distance.
In the valleys I search for a promise of tomorrow’s sun, the early rise calling me from the mountains, a return to the field.
But for now, I wait.
Stand watch until I see the mobile shadows bobbing along the hills, their meander moving against the retreating light. A slow-paced race against time, so well-rehearsed I know the flock will win every time.
I continue to count the minutes passing.
Night falls. A blink into darkness.
Alex B. Wasalinko
Alex B. Wasalinko got hooked on the ekphrastic bug and followed it to Glasgow, Scotland where she spent a year exploring feminist styles of the mode. She firmly believes ekphrasis can be the tool to dismantle the male gaze once and for all. In the past, Alex’s art and poetry have been published in Esprit: The University of Scranton Review of Art and Letters and in friends’ zines. She currently lives in Scranton, Pennsylvania with her best friends and constant companions--her dog, Hamlet, and Elder Cat, Sasha.
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