Cozy

The creak of a door blends with the sound of a sigh. I’m walking across damp bricks; the sounds echo hollow.  An indistinct silhouette on bare branches and a rustle of feathers; there is no horizon, no sky.  What is to be seen changes as I change location, block to block, street-light to street-light.  It is scenery in sections. This is a world in which I feel comfortable: an illusion of safety, a distortion of size.  With hard edges muted and a softening of lines, it is cozy.  The smell of moldering leaves, the glow of light diffused. . . I wish I could just wander, a cup of coffee in hand and nothing in my head.  I’d feel the itch of wool on my skin and the cool weight of fog on my cheek.  The click of my boot heels on pavement would fade as the sun slowly burnt its way to earth. I’d dissipate with the dew, and fade away with the morning.

 

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One response to this post.

  1. Posted by C.R. Sawyer on March 1, 2012 at 4:21 am

    I slept and dreamed that life was beauty. I awoke and found life was duty.

    Reply

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