The Shepherd

The shepherd stared out at the endless dunes, his weathered face etched with worry. His flock, usually a babbling chorus of bleats, was silent. Tonight, he wasn’t playing his flute. He’d lost his #audience. A lone crow circled overhead, its harsh caw echoing in the emptiness. Then, a flicker of movement. A tiny desert fox emerged, ears perked. The shepherd smiled. Perhaps even the smallest creatures craved a story. He raised the flute to his lips, and a melody, born of joy, danced on the desert breeze.