It's blue outside, tinted
in the colors of the rain-
bow, some bold, some not.
The flowers are nodding,
back and forth, like a sea of
violets and reds and oranges
and green stalks. The wind Is
blowing.


It's dark in here, all the lamps
turned way down, all the candles
gone out. Sweet smoke curls up
from the stumps and swirls around
in the darkness; the cloying scent
makes me sleepy.


I look out through a crack in the
curtains, my eyes are dazzled by
the light; spots floating beneath my
lids. When I look back, I can't see.
Drawn, I stare out, the sun hidden
by a passing cloud, glowing orange
behind the white, and watch.


The pines are sighing, alone in their
thicket, a favorite pastime of theirs,
as they watch the flowers in their
sway.


Clouds scud past, gold and red
with the sunset. The crickets
are chirping. Birds sing to one
another in the trees, light and
sweet. The flapping of wings
resounds and echoes throughout
the meadow, as a flock of tired
geese glide down to rest. The grass
is rustling.


I turn and let the curtains fall
closed. I look at the dim and
cluttered room that surrounds
me, I smell the dust and the
mold and the thinning candle
smoke. I sigh, once. And I walk
out, out the door, into the light
and the sunset. And I don't look
back.