Written while I walked to aerial class (about 5:30 p.m.).
The grass exhaled the day’s labors, a puff of rain drops and sunshine, of dog walks and after-school sports, of “how was your day”s and “good morning”s. The sky blinked its heavy eyes. A burst of color bled from the corners, residue of heat and light that flared before it slept, like leaves fighting the quiet death of winter.
The night waited, suspicious. The hush could only hold so long.