January 16, 2011

A timid purple-gray peeks groggily through the thick lashes of a leafless horizon.  Defiant stars persist in the smooth cobalt sky, heedless of the approaching sun-tide.

Sunday morning.  Before alarms, before shopping, before sporting events.  Exasperated traffic lights flash warnings at unruly cross-breezes.

The hour is not spoken for—free to be stolen or given.  Forgotten, like coins in a parking lot, to be stashed away by frugal fingers, untaxed and unnoticed.  Loose time, indifferent to its use, beguiles overly industrious souls to believe themselves a step ahead.


One comment

  1. I like it!!

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