These days, it’s strange – but the nights now heat up. At noon it’s the coldest – the gray sky above glowing cold like an LED screen abandoned to idle. But with night comes warmth like a breath and the tidal aromas of oceans and far, far retreats. Warm enough to wear short-sleeves while the fat squirrels crunch leaves, to lean on the deck rail and with happy ease to imagine the person that I used to be: telephone-active, clean shaven, free. It is nice but it’s quiet, the vibrating cells gave away to the hourly toll of the bells at the recently revamped church on the corner, where the morning attendants don’t know that it’s warmer this late in the evening; no, they are sleeping with metronome breaths while their animals peaceably innocently tiredly and obediently lay on the floor to await the pale brightening of a morning I know will be cold and oppressive. At night, at least, the graying is lessened and replaced with ink, a color with depth. At night, I cannot even see my breath like my sleeping friends will when they pile in cars. I want none of it, please leave me the dark.


~ by perfectionatrix on November 15, 2010.

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