Wednesday, Dimming
Listening to the storm. Watching it. The green of wet leaves bleeding up into the sky; the gray of the clouds blurring down. A momentary flicker of white…and the low growl of thunder. The afternoon has gone prematurely dim. Cicadas, still whispering. And the cars on the highway.
I’m vaguely sore, weary. Muted, like the evening. Not much else than the sounds of me typing — and that will finish soon. Then I will regard the end of day. Quietly.