Musty. Light streaming between the cracks in the wood catch dancing dust particles, illuminating them as if they were on stage. The hay is old and rotten. Bits of it still exist here and there but most has faded away. Termites have eaten away at the stable doors, carving patterns into them with their mandibles. The doors, though, are still latched shut from the outside, just like they were the last day he was here. Still latched as if it is waiting for him to return, keeping things safe until he comes back. It doesn’t know he isn’t, so it will just keep waiting and waiting full of musty stagnant air and rotting hay.



Vignette practice with my students

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