It felt like September this evening:
Stars. Warm. Clarity.
A couple walking together in the quiet night.
The sounds of a sitcom drifting through an open window disrupting that quiet night with the calming affect of a familiar laughtrack as background noise to silence.
A car slowly passes. I stare into the headlights wondering if the driver thinks I'm looking at them.
Ray LaMontagne. A soothing sound. A September sound.
I walk an extra lap to continue the gathering and organization of thoughts.
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2 comments:
it stinks you guys can't go to dave. Have fun at the baseball game.
Nice little poem, Berg.
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