Scarecrow

Stooped silently above the Widow’s scrabbly field a baleful shape hangs. You tell yourself it’s only a collection of matted straw and sack cloth, to drive away the pecking crows.

Don’t look too long… nor ask why the figure unnerves you so.  Don’t ask the why the sullen farmer has been away so long, or what brings the fleeting scent of decay when the wind blows over the field.