Low clouds dampen an early
Fall afternoon. Sounds of pigeons
overhead and newspapers opening
become absorbed into an unmistakable
dullness.
People hold hands, thanking the stars
for dreams coming true. Puddles of
last nights rain reflects treetops and
corners of buildings protected by gargoyles.
The aroma of tar and steam touches
everyone passing by. Wilting shadows
become the diorama of static art inside
a shoe box.
Rusted fire escapes offer a view of the
world.
Roger Singer 