And fall stumbles in again, knocking leaves down as he follows the geese south, fleeing winter.
A strung-out, emaciated Wesley teeters down the sidewalk. Left arm propped on a bicycle, his right dangles across a large shoulderbag. When did he last wash his black shirt, and when did it start looking sketchy instead of swashbuckling?
More bike clusters. Sleek, colorful, hard-headed and beetle-eyed, they string along to dodge parked cars, but pay no attention to driving ones. Slowing behind them, I wonder what they do for exercise the rest of the year. And why they travel in packs
Four purple balloons bounce and bend. This street funnels wind, and they spend much of their lives talking to the flowerbox. Today, none of them pop. A group of boys stands by them, bopping them. We watch, hoping they don't steal our balloons. They don't. We sit back down.
Glinting sun catches geese settled on the water. Land curves around them and the solid blue surface. Leaves appear prematurely red in the light. All is shining and still. My breath slows.
No comments:
Post a Comment