dreams2dust

Hot asphalt reek and the pavement's rough edge. My blood runs hot, though I'm shivering from not just the cold. That feeling of freedom is preceded by headlights on the highway, by the fearsome flash of red and blue. I'm praying just to go home. We're a mess, you and I: with my wind-snarled hair and your air-drawn tears. No words need be spoken. They'd just be lost in the night. You open the throttle and I open my eyes to take in the poetry of the road. We'll sing the stars down, baby.

I live to love and to cry, for stories and misadventures, awkward moments and loaded words. All I can ever ask for is everything and that's exactly what I'll give. I can take my losses, cut and run, but never from the truth. I will take my chances, boldly face the unknown, and I won't look away when I tell you how I feel. With a roll of the dice, I could win or lose, but at least I got to try.

Back porch living is coming to an end. The days of watermelon and juleps are a not so distant memory, one of the moist, clinging heat. The cool winds blow and the clouds roll in, signaling autumn's arrival. When hot tea replaces iced, squash replaces corn, then the fireflies start to dwindle. What was once an almost faerie land of Spanish moss and oaks, set alight by the illuminary insects, now goes dark and dull. Reds and browns take the place of shades of emerald: kelly, sage, and shamrock. Grass fades to dun, dryly rustling in the cool forebears of winter's fury.