A Yipping Moaning Yowl

A screaming came across the sky. A shrieking yip. A yowl. The shamble leg man cursing, said ‘…what a howling yip, a yowl, a shriek…’. The morning sky fell open like a squabbling child, arms fighting off imaginary dragons. The night sky punted the morning sky, capering it back into yesterday. The night sky and the morning sky spent their time bulling the other from existence. There was no room for both a night and a morning sky. The shamble leg man stared a gawk at the rising sun, his feet squared to the curbside. ‘…another day of nothing at all…’. The sun rose higher, the night sky cowering under an umbrella of light. ‘…all at nothing of day another…’ said the shamble leg man, the peak of his forehead plumbed with the Waymart clock.

Today was the day the Witness was to pay witness to the witnessing of the Grand Witness Poona Altamonte. The Grand Witness was staying overnight in the Grand Hall of the Grand Witnesses’ Cantonment, built by the great-great grandfather of the first great Grand Witness Scaramouch Malacca. The day would start with the other Witnesses witnessing of the Grand Witness (Scaramouch Malacca) witnessing the witnessing of the other Witnesses, a bimanual conference of Grand Witness witnessing. (Bimanual as the Grand Witness was predisposed to gesticulations, the likes of which were uncommon outside of a triennial witnessing, which occurred every 27½ years). A second then a third screaming came across the sky. A yipping shriek. A moaning yowl. ‘…cursed yipping yowl…’ hissed the shamble leg man, ‘…I wish I had a feather duster so I could dust the morning sky away…’.