Observation – July 1st, 2016


I can hear the wet-clinging strokes of the paint roller.

The back and forth, the up down; I can hear the spreading of the new white, covering the old white, yellowed with age.

She is painting the bedroom, while I listen to news, and write, and prepare for work.

My cat is watching the city from atop the couch; in the picture window.

Sunlight brushes the lilies in the boulevard.

A cool wind is blowing through the peonies, the dark green leaves are just bushes now; having dropped the soft petals, from their pendulous flowers.



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