Untitled (#1)

I spent today as a camera, shutter propped open, zoomed in on the details: The daisy bursting in the church yard, and the suited man hunched beside it; the shop sign flipped open in the morning and turned slowly over in the evening; a sparrow finishing its nest in the oak tree; and the morning dove’s first time meeting.

And in hindsight, I saw the possibilities:
Like the rainy day, and early morning coffee, happiness creeping like vines on the steeple, and weeds crawling like kids in the grass; or the shop sign untouched for weeks, only fluttered in the wind that tests the nest and the petals; or the drought that cracked the suited man’s skin, and later, his heart.

But after the drought (which didn’t last) I saw rain blanket from nowhere—billow like steam off breath in the autumn, it ran my film into streams and sewers. I shrugged, and left my shutter open for tomorrow.

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