The sun has her heart on setting, and so takes an impetuous bow.

The mountains open trees like umbrellas, to which their budding wildlife gather under.

High above the lamplight district, a cluster of crows assemble on a wire, taking a vote over which direction to take wing.

The grumpy locomotive steams ahead, hissing at its schedule and the possibilities of further rust.

A lady of style, turning on her heels from the salon, swears to the heavens she'll get even if anything ruins her hair.

And you, just this morning...

waving goodbye to me from an upstairs window with a smile, but silently praying I will return to you alive and in good health.