Just another day? I don’t think so. Never is one the same as the previous. Thank whatever Universal Entity is to be thanked. While some things remain the same, consistent, mundane…
verbal photography.
The wood rose is brown. It’s seeds wait inside shadows of each petal. The dense green pine needles against its neutral earthly tones make me stop and soak up the beauty. Pieces of blue sky split the clouds.
A man on the bus was dozing. His hair thinning, but no sight of gray, clean nails, graceful hands resting on his lap, the shadow of a bus window sticker crossed his arm like a tattoo.
The woman in front of me had the longest dreads I’d ever seen. I wondered if they were real and looked for telling signs. I found the truth.
I thought about Halloween and writing a murder story, this bus, the morgue thirteen blocks away, and…
I watched a man walk by. The colors in his striped shirt matched his frosted curly hair, pants and sandals. I would like the comfort of sandals like that.
I ran up the library steps. Literally.
