🐴 
IRL 🎠 stallion
With apologies to Mr. Calvino
If on a winter’s night an Anon, outside the town of Marebrook, shivering in the gathering snow without fear or horse nip or frostnip, looks up at the rising sun into a network of feathers that enlace, in a network of feathers that intersect, above the carpet of leaves illuminated by the sun around an empty moon—Whose story up there has just ended?—he asks, anxious to bury his hands deep inside his lover’s coat.
I’ve suggested this to one artist who was taking prompts, but am very curious to see if any other artists pick it up and see the direction they choose for it.
