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She Moves Outside
She leaped the cracks between the paving stones. A worm had up and died a few days before and she skirted its dried up corpse- a crusty brown smear, many times the length of her own body. The back step presented no very great obstacle to one who was used to scaling chair legs and book cases and kitchen units.
She wondered if she might some day take it upon herself to climb a tree.
She slipped under the back gate and she was out in a space where distances were four or five times what she was used to.
No, six times, seven times....
Unreal, storied, fabulous.
She spoke its name under her breath.-slowly- her heart beating faster than a mouses's-
Wuuuurld.
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I was feeling sorry for the old woman. I thought you'd had a major news story take place in your alley!
Then I thought it might be New Orleans.
Then I thought: Clever! He's talking about rats.
Then I saw your tiny woman.
If she runs into my wooden weatherhouse people, do let me know.
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I don't know what happens next, but she'll keep an eye out for your weatherhouse folk (could they have crossed the sea?- might they have floated across?)
She'll need all the friends she can get.
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That back alley is prowled by all sorts of critters.
She might meet a cat!
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It's a hell of a long way to the end of the alley.
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Though she might lose some of her paint.
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