Quarter past 12

The murmur of the trees mention rain.

In the dark, the paved lanes glisten lines of light in rippling pools.

From far, a cricketing, then gone to calm murmur.

Small orange suns cast cones of dappled gloom on shining metal steeds.

A light of distant dull gray drapes its arms atop the trees.

In staggered groups, drops, distinct splashes of sound in the constant conversation, add effect to the script of misty evening. Pause. Suspense. And then a rolling wave of shaken leaves as breeze arrives.

Leaves in shadows one and two play upon the layered glass—a flattened forest in reach, upon the layered glass.

In the chair, across from open screen, bathed in the scent of rain, there, at last, is sleep.

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About salemonz

Born in San Diego, Calif. Raised as a Navy Brat, I jumped ship and crossed over to the Army. Served as an enlisted journalist for a bunch of years, then helped the DoD figure out what the hell to do with social media. After the Army, now I drift down the river of life, trying not to be a jerk.

One response to “Quarter past 12”

  1. wilsonian says :

    Damn.
    That is sweet.

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