At Dusk.

Surrounding the frail seeming, pale woman, were dozens of black cats. In her hands were bags, made of interweaving thin red rope, and within the bags, apples oranges and lemons. Talisa was stopped in her tracks, inert, patient, observing.


Nothing was everything around us, so easy for it to consume, she mused.

Turning to the side, placing the bags down, barefeet twinkled their toes and she bent over, selecting the brightest red apple from one of her bags. With her eyes narrowed by intent, she gently rolled the fruit from the heel of her fist down the cobblestones to the cloud of mysterious design, and waited to see what would happen.

Around her the cats mewled and purred and waved their tails, walking back and forth like a velvety black ocean before the thin bodied, creamy dressed woman, and in the blue light of the hour, it was a most startling sight.