the fog rolls in and it's raining.
the repetitive simplicity of the piano keys, one bright note lingering above a dark chord
like a kite attached to a gnarled tree.
a child stands under an umbrella, weathered brown boots in a puddle murky water and concrete. in her hands she holds a music box and turns the key. the gears churn and prick the tiny pieces of metal, causing the notes to sing from her tiny hands.
an airplane in the distance catches her eye, and she looks up toward it to see where it's going, where it's been. it's not bright, but she narrows her eyes, shields them with her hand as she watches the plane disappear into her imagination.
she pictures them going to france, or to tokyo- somewhere where it's still raining and still chilly, but somewhere where the cobblestones or the glitter make it seem glamorous and purposeful.
Stop Making Sense
2 weeks ago