The moon hung high, full to its brim with milk, the brightness ironing out any starry seams in the sky. She let out a huge reserve of air from deep within her lungs as she sat down, the sigh landing on the chair before she did, like a cushion. She began to rock back and forth, her thoughts swaying along.



She thought back to that afternoon. Her son's teacher had been so upset when she got to the school to pick him up. But Miss Mayfair's intensity was a bit unfair- all Davy did was make some animal noises during her lesson... One oink, a moo or two, who's to say he was remarking on her large rump?

Then there was dinner. She had spilled the macaroni all over the ground. A ground she hadn't cleaned in a week, and the noodles had to be tossed into the waste basket. "Why do you drop everything all the time?" her son had complained. She looked down at her shaking hands and said nothing.

But then again the morning hadn't been the best start to a day. Baby Rose woke up an hour earlier than normal, her dry lips screaming for more milk than was available. She silenced the last of the morning crickets and dashed the remaining cold stars from the sky. 



She sighed again and took out a small block of wood from her apron pocket. She held it tight as she carved out a notch from it's side, just as she did every night. She counted the scars she created on the honey wood, her fingers feeling the rough divots. It had been 43 days. (OR There were 43 days left.)