You’ve caught that simple lull. A halfhearted bated breath. A stale puddle of apologies. It was the season of apathetic reasoning. Wind lightly moved, more than blew. Leaves were uncertain of their status; the rakes’ teeth were clean. The busty weathergirl’s forecast called for warnings, yet she neglected to say what kind. Children did handstands, but didn’t smile. Or were they holding up the earth?
(Read the rest May 28th at The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts.)