Hymn To Sophia

Maisie sat on the grass of her backyard, the fresh shoots of grass tickling her bare legs, as she sat crosslegged in bright boy’s swim shorts and tank top.

She watched a big beetle in his obsidian shell crawl through the grass and dirt, and over her naked toes, making her giggle.

A little creature going about its day, awake now that spring was over, and life, in all its lushness and blood, had started again.

The beetle wandered on to the small patch of woods, out of sight. The sun was hot on her shoulders. A lazy breeze blew on her face.

A rare good day, Maisie was reminded of childhood, when it seemed she was always happy, before corruption, illness.

She would go upstairs to her room, and write a hymn for Sophia, while she was still in the light, a moment of purity, when she could give love so easily.

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