The town spread out at the base of the hill. Red oak leaves on black oak trees fad with the sun and the town. She walks. Hopes she will reach the town by dark. She won’t but she still hopes. Her dress like the oaks and the sun and the town fades, gold turned to brown. Her bag has fruit, a dress made from old drapes, her past all in it. It weights her down. Her steps are slow. To walk is hard now. She had done it all day in the hopes of the chance to sleep this night. No. She will walk on. Close to that town, still so far, as the night twist her eyes.
A Road At Dusk
September 9, 2010