A Lokean Devotional Vignette
Wildfire encircles the valley where I live.
He’s coming.
On the wind, a Fae-shared warning.
The air dries, lawns die, a subtle haze encroaches on the sun.
My lungs kindle. Rust turns to dust beneath the smoke-yellowed sky.
Your husband, he’s coming.
Their voices dance and play. The hair on my skin rouses, electric.
I feel him pressing nearer.
Sparks fly, wood creaks and cracks. Flame spits and laughs.
“I have a plan.”
Loki whispers softly against the top of my head.
The sunset turns as red as his hair.