Moon, rhino, trombone

Caz let us have playtime. It was a splendiferous exploration of free writing. She threw words at us for ten minutes and we had to catch them and spread them on a page. 

Here is that beautiful nonsense:

It was getting too dark to see. Hands held out in front of us were becoming hazy in the light of an insufficient moon. We held them out before us, partly to guide us, partly to marvel at the sense we had so swiftly lost. The hues were shifting fast now, pink skinned turned grey, a world turned grey. Looming monstrosities dared to reveal themselves as mundanities only at the last moment, leaping out as horrific shapes, ghastly triangles. Leaves and branches made mad in the gloom. We staggered onward but halfway to the point we entered your foot caught. Held by the ground, a root snaring you. The bone cracked and the trees cackled, a hurricane in the leaf tops, delighted that tonight a human twig would snap. I lifted you upon my shoulders, your cries indistinguishable from those of the forest. Step by step, pride and pain swallowed, I dragged us onwards. The dark was specific we discovered. The rhino black sky was simply a shading of leaves, an arboreal blanket thrown over our little part of the world. As the trees thinned, or parted so it seemed, and my steps quickened, greedy for open space, the light returned. The sun had not yet fully set and pink still sat upon the sky’s blue complexion. You brought me back to the now with a sharp elbow, carelessly swung. I made to drop you but didn’t, biting back frustration. The light in your eyes setting that ever playing band in my ears. The heart wrenching trumpet and eager trombone, eking out sympathy from a stone. I lay you down on a patch of grass and silence sat between us like a secret kept carefully. Your head on my shoulder, tears soaking into denim. The sun died another death, awaiting rebirth calmly.