The wooden horse swayed in the breeze. The rain continued. The smell of wet cement was replaced with the fragrance of ocean. There was no plug to be pulled and the tide rose quickly. The sidewalk sprouted seaweed, cars gargled and sputtered. The wooden horse reared on, galloping over the waves, its mane glistening, teeth painted into a smile. Our neighbor was building a raft out of garbage cans, but it was too late; the horse had rocked out of sight, its wooden hooves splashing like a child in a puddle.
Find more works by Michael e. Casteels, including his latest work, The Last White House At The End Of The Row Of White Houses, in the KFPL collection.