rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Every fireplace and wood stove in town must be lit. Their smoke, held low to the ground, drifts like fog, from which it can be differentiated in this chilly air only by its pungent smell. It looks as though all the dark damp left by the storm were vaporizing. But it is icy cold. The clouds have rapidly dissipated with dusk, remaining only in the west, where sunset makes of them an orange and purple bruise. Through a haze of bare oak twigs I see the thinnest crescent of waxing moon. Once the fires are banked, the night will be clear. Tomorrow, sunlight, at last.

Take a look at the Look at Me Project, a collection of found photographs of unidentified people.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.