Red Light, Gray Cloud
I am sitting at a red light while a song about heaven winds itself toward its ending, and I am suddenly aware that so much of my emotion is not about the song at all but about the clock beneath my ribs. The morning is gray, the kind of gray that feels unfinished, as though the day has not yet decided what it wants to become. A cloud drifts in front of the rising sun, and I feel in that cloud the…
View On WordPress















