Somewhere in our garden, there’s a circle in the grass.
We sat on the edge of our seats as another piece of red meat, marbled with sinew and fat, was tossed into the lion enclosure.
Her bare feet were numb with cold. She could barely stand. Almost lifeless, they threw her into the chair.
This wall cried cold, fresh spring water, and as a result, a thin blanked of moss had formed over the rock. My hand filled with tears.