Notes from Last Midnight

Thick, cold fog drapes heavily across overpasses, low-hanging eaves, the arch of streetlamps. Windshields and windows are frosted blank, glowing like ghosts. It's a different kind of stillness, than twilight or snowfall. Shapes dissolve in mist, or resolve like dew in front of your eyes. You notice more clearly the warmth of reddened cheeks and of searching eyes.


No comments: