Watery, drab spring, vertigo, and the necessity to make a living keep me inside doors so much. Tonight, a walk, under the moon.
Distinctive scents of home; whiff of honeysuckle and in a small business district. Moving away from lights and toward houses - strong spirea, clover, fresh cut grass, exhaust and asphalt.
The sounds; the way live music sounds warm, muffled, emanating from the local bar and grill. Not looking in, just glad people are out, are together. The two horns, vying against one another up the road, their engines as angry as their drivers.
Full moon cool, distant, and remote. Sheen of its light on a peaked slate roof.
It is so damned lonesome here. When the walk is already over.