Like lines in a song, the outline of the horizon was revealed as the sun rose higher. Poetry, almost – two parallel lines, trees hovering like clouds. Shaking his head, the outlines became more distinct, his vision clearing.
The night had been longer than most. This watch seemed to go on forever, the sounds of the forest around him echoing against the mist. He’d never been happier to see a sunrise.
Wiping his eyes one more time, he lowered his gun, sighting the horizon, waiting for movement. Poetry would have to wait.
The photo prompt is courtesy of Madison Woods, copyright Maggie Duncan. Madison’s story can be found here, along with links to all the other Flash Friday Fictioneers.
© Erin Leary