It was raining Wednesday morning
The gentle sound of rain makes me think of glowing drops beading on windshields and the hoods of cars. I need the air. I imagine crisp, unnatural reflections from the lights of the city night.
Things aren't as crisp as I hoped. The sky reflects a ureic yellow. Strayed signs blur across the sidewalks on Damen, in search of a lost, blind dog.
Other fresh markings are almost as temporary.
But the marking...
...of territory...
...is...
...everywhere.
On a damp, not quite chilly morning
as the Tree gently wept.
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