construction remnants
Someone spilled rock and sand on the city street below. I didn’t see them do it, I can only guess how it happened. The clamor to rush away as the traffic light announced the alternation of stopping and going. A truck’s tailgate pushed too hard by the weight of the load upon acceleration. A trail of dust and sand tumbled to the asphalt in an effort to escape, only to be trampled by thousands of cars over the next few hours. Each time someone drives over the rocky debris a hiss escapes from tire and sand skittering in opposite directions while somehow maintaining a glistening track on the dark street. It sounds like someone thinks it’s going to snow, like preparation for the ice and cold February is known for. It feels like spring though. The air is warmer and the sun lingers longer, diminishing the length of the darkness that haunts us from one season to the next. I find myself drifting off, dreaming of a deep, clear sky speckled with dots, sifting the light from distant planets and stars through the dark, warm air. In my mind I remember a summer night where the stray sparks from a fire mingled with the stars. Everything felt so possible, so near. Then wheel meets dust and I’m back in my apartment. Sitting up in bed, the only night sky I can muster lives on a backlit screen and the line of sand in the road is one I cannot cross nor can I understand.
