It has been five years.
Just now, a bluebird alighted on the topmost branch of the tree in front of my window. I am brought back to the tree outside my bedroom window in my old apartment in Jersey City. 780 more words
The sun is setting on Valencia St and no one can tell if it’s summer or fall. The breeze holds with it an ambivalence, as if the changing of seasons is none of her concern, a silly construct developed by mere mortals to mark the passage of time (another of our silly constructs). 321 more words
There is something about October. About the light that turns extra golden in the late afternoon. Something about the warmth of the sun and the cool of the air that lures smells of home-cooking, warmth, and habitation out from cracked windows and doors, yawning open for the last few lazy times before cold and hibernation set in. 245 more words
Waiting to board, she looked up through the airport windows. Her eyes met the fog, now an old familiar, but no less unique or magic. She rested on its wisps and mystery, let the beauty seep from the folds of mountains, through her pupils and through her skin, to wrap her heart in its embrace. 190 more words