Monday, May 26, 2008
The Sounds of Eve
It is nearly 9 p.m. A summery evening. Robins trading solitary, twirling chants. A cat yearning hungrily -- for what? Another cat. The voices of neighbor's children. Broken phrases. Competition medals hung near a bed clanging like wind chimes. A window fan, on the floor. The robins' songs diminish, slow, and then start up again, full-throated. The chair creaks. The tapping of keys. Tires distant on pavement. A slight rumbling in the stomach. A cleansing breath. The slam of a neighbor's falling screen.
Never, anywhere, in any form, will this moment be precisely echoed.
The ephemera of an evening turning into night. In May, a Monday.
It is now. It is here.
And as you read this, it is gone.
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2 comments:
Beautiful.
Every single second is fleeting, and every moment as precious as every one before it.
Thank you for sharing this one.
Scarlett & Viaggiatore
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