Thousand: Three Hundred Fourteen

“All gone,” he sang. He turned the pot upside down and shook it and a spider dropped from a web woven inside. A wind blew down from the mountains carrying the scent of parsnips and rutabagas. The brook that ran by the garden burbled its suicidal ideation, fire or ice, fire or ice. A butterfly dipped down to the daisy the bumblebee had lately abandoned and rolled out its great curl of tongue, probing for deep sweetness the bee hadn’t delved. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” the fisher gnome asked. “I have the future right here. Right here!” He shook