rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The cat sits at the window and watches the gray day become rainy evening. The matte pavement turns glossy, presenting a blurry picture of fading sky, as a small bird making an insect-like chirp gets in a last few pecks at the lawn before flying off to the shelter of a bush. The rain isn't very strong, and the small drops make little sound, but the downspout soon begins to trickle. A slight breeze rises and flicks drops from the pine needles. The rush of their falling passes up the block like a wave. The cat grows tired of the scene and moves to the couch for a nap. I continue to watch the fading dusk, and put off lighting the lamp. When I finally head for the switch, the room has grown so dark that I must feel my way carefully. It always ends like that. I'm supposed to be out there, I think.

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