The First Poet

“The clouds with the help of the evening breeze had disassembled the weakening orange Skyflame.” Uzduk wondered where did that thought come from. Left alone, more so left behind, he became a narrator to himself.

“Small wonders usually happen without a soul around.”

Another one! Uzduk was exultant from the thoughts beyond sustenance and sleep. He grabbed a charred twig of yesterday’s fire and started scribbling on the wall what he saw. The forest, the people, the mammoth with spears embedded.