the child looked down at her elderly hands, and wondered
where all that time went. she looked up at the sky, at the
afternoon clouds, concluding that it was about to
rain.
the flat, boring light in this time of day was the thing
that had interested her the most: not good for photography
or poetry or song, but right here, in person, it's such a
beautiful sight.
when you can see for miles in the old suburban street, and
your mind becomes as silent as the air, and the lukewarm
breeze smells like flowers and cement, as it elegantly
dances through your fingers and your hair.
a pidgeon, a squirrel. a father and his child. she sat back
and wondered if this is all there was.
