My stories are often accumulations of images and characters, because one of the ways I amuse myself and torment others is by trying to combine incompatible concepts and ideas. This is one of the earliest images that spawned what’s become Bluebird: a dream I had years ago about a girl running ahead of a tidal wave, setting the crops on fire.
Little Animal running through the wheat
far enough below to silence her shout
She stamps and leaps to drive the vermin out,
to start a great stampede of tiny feet.
Behind her, smoke rises to clot the sky.
To the east, the cliffs as sheer as black glass
To the west, the sea retreats from the grass
into a wave one hundred meters high.
Little Animal runs from the water.
When fire supersedes everyone’s roles,
predator and prey look up from the slaughter.
Chasing the unknowing birds from their holes,
she sets the fields afire behind her.
On the horizon, the wave starts to roll.