The countess stepped past, followed by canine, her heeler blue in tow and I, boldly hiding, behind the nervous bowl still clingingly warm and of an early sidewalk-side breakfast.
Contemplating mutualistic subject matter, she with smiled-eye wrinkles, partially covered with a loose fitting morning mask, but also, welcomingly and partially not, seemed caustically at ease.
Under the spell of some sunday seven a.m. dog walk repeats, I, of childlike fascination with the morning light cascading through needley leaves - rays that equally share in time, masquerading around 'til midday as longer shadows now shortening, find a depth worthy of wander.
Warmth anew, replacing yesterdays reptilian cool and I listened, I clung, to the sound of every step that never ceased or stopped, yet a lifetime crept amongst a flash-bang blink and disheveled the air all around.
Vast and far off, it wasn't the green-wonder that crashed with a burn that struck like nostalgic bolts of expected summer lightning that shook yesterdays surely cured foundation, what she simply said and kept pace in passing was "I wrote about you" and left it at that.
Their steps continued with the crash of metal-leashed clasps, off up and into the eastern and still wet with dew park, walking, again, around the sun rising, perforating the glistening saint johns trailside trees.
They left the "now" with no room for question and I could have dropped my cinnamon-oaty spoon in the old sidewalk sap and collective dirt and never caressed even a care.
The obsessive attraction here lies, not amongst the endless pastures of some wild life wonder, but aside the silent spruce and dug firred speculative.
Some writer written and "about you".
No comments:
Post a Comment