As the sun crept in I lay down my pen to sleep.
The door, creaking like an old reminder, opened to reveal nothing.
A cat was not stepping gingerly. A tiger was loping towards the hills.
Over the trees a mist spread like soft butter.
A golf club lay on the driveway and a small golden bird looked alert.
The milk had been delivered as if a history book had been opened.
It was not a weekday. Life was brewing toward a memorable episode.
Permanent link to this post