I wore glasses. Big round ones. And when they rested on my nose, my eyes were wide. The wind brushed my hair, touching my lips. It brought with it the smell of fresh rain and forgotten dust.
The people pressed, their eyes searching, through the quiet smell of rain, through the quiet sound of people walking. Onward. Onward in passing. I am shaking terribly. I am shaking with indifference. In the warm evening my skin is wet. It smells like the rain. Like the wet cold rain. And it feels no different then the wet grass. Fresh and bright and shaking. I am fresh and bright and shaking. Still and loud in quiet movement.
I took a breath, folding the air, holding myself, as my porch light began to glow in the growing night.
The people pressed, their eyes searching, through the quiet smell of rain, through the quiet sound of people walking. Onward. Onward in passing. I am shaking terribly. I am shaking with indifference. In the warm evening my skin is wet. It smells like the rain. Like the wet cold rain. And it feels no different then the wet grass. Fresh and bright and shaking. I am fresh and bright and shaking. Still and loud in quiet movement.
I took a breath, folding the air, holding myself, as my porch light began to glow in the growing night.
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