A fly walks across Sunday Saturday Friday Thursday Wednesday Tuesday Monday until it reaches Hours: 8–5, then it flies out the open door dividing the office from the garage where the oil is being changed.
I Love You.
ART: LJ Austin “Westfield” 2023
If not for the light coming through the window, the small room would be unwelcoming. In narrow darkness, it's a place without voices making polite conversation about things that don’t matter. In the adjacent chair, a bag of clean rags, unfolded.
From the back, the emptiness of some main street buildings is hidden by brick, mortar, and small windows. Dump trucks, cars, SUVs, pickup trucks pass through the corridor of buildings on their way to somewhere, destinations unknown to me.
A bird sits in a leafless tree as another alights on a branch further down the trunk. Evergreens reach past the mountains to the cloudy sky. Oh, little town, what do you know of the rest of the world? Are you all you seem, or a facade of what I need to see?
Add comment
Comments
Very nice!