The world uncorked another dose of dreaming, starlit winds sifting through countless conifers, evergreen needles crunching with each icy step. The amplitude of every shadow some scintilla of alarm, some simulacrum of sensation flickering through the trailing dark. The false dawn of a moon still weighted though waning. The false prophet of a hungry predator stalking just out of sight, I heard her call my name.
The day gave away little tricks and secrets, the fluttering tree limbs swaying amid the flit and call of the scattered flocks. Crow calling from a crooked redwood, scrub jay scolding from a ragged fence. It curls like smoke, spilling into the atmosphere. It creeps like a cat in the high weeds. The sky afire with a radiant blue, the earth spattered with all manner of restless life. Walking along a long path surrounded by trash and weeds, I heard her call my name.
A cup of coffee cools as the day breaks its bonds, dusk sliding in from the east. The press of shadows supports the abandoned walls once bright and incited by the push of so much sun. The depths of cool blue and carbon gray pool in the streets, gathering in the gutters and hushing up the burdensome gutters. Something slips in as other things evade and dissipate, something both sharp and ethereal. Something crawls along the sheer surfaces, filling in the gaps with thick peals of absence. I am alone in the echoes of whistles and the stillness of bells. As night falls I hear her call my name.
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