A mandarin moon moves maleficently across the sun creating an eerie orange glow throughout the valley.

The wind sails in on a sea of white horses. Heads rearing, manes tossing, wildness of a bush fire reflected in their bulging eyes.

Trembling trees grow arms to hug and hold each other tight until the tempest passes.

In its wake a Whirling Dervish picks up its skirts, dances a fantastic fandango to the beat of the retreating horses’ hooves. During the dying throes of the dance the Dervish dips its head into its heart, diminishing in the dust.

Mary Younger