Morning EncounterAll doors are locked right now.
Nobody’s home on the street where every house stands neatly in place, with flowers and a wind chime hanging by the door. Although the mats say Welcome, no one is here for hospitality. The sun streams into unoccupied living rooms whose only sound is of time ticking its way across a carpet. It’s a fine day to be walking without a destination, just to feel each step as it falls and looking up at the mountain baked into the atmosphere; to be a sentence beyond interpretation in a book of desert hours while a lawn sprinkler whispers to dry heat, when a coyote melts out of the light and flows across the sidewalk after picking up a scent that runs from his nose through each of his bones to the last hair on his tail. |
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