Some prayed for rain.
A silent savagery, the repetition of days on end, red days, sun.
Tomorrow's opportunity, the scrubbing of insects alive and dead from glass to create an invisibility, I like that you might add, the creation of nothing.
Later the gift of the sun would allow smoke swirl from my tongue.
I would not tell you that.
I could find another word--wisp--from a book or quicker, faster, toward nothing, if I should consult the internet; watch how I tell you things on the internet.
Fires surround mountain peaks, prevailing ash, fire specks littered wind eastward from the mountains.
Even here in the Rust Belt, smoke gets in your eyes, a speck in your eye, as the train leaves.
Anonymous, the general public carrying a strapped black computer case, would find my words on the internet at Starbucks, near 20 oz earth hued porcelain mugs, clean and empty as last minute gifts.
Diane would appear freshly French-kissed half the night and all morning, "Hey watch the L Y words," she stated.
Pungently odd exotic bean steam--though unseen--filled the air pungently.
"There's next to no association in any of the context," I added formlessly.
"Vapid," she interjected.
"Thought there's a pensivness to it...all of us seated, others in line to sit."
"Hot beverage on such a warm day."
"Dylan Thomas would have a hang-over," she obliged.
Diane's eyes (she actually wore (I think it would be called) her chiffon green, sheer green kerchief, saddle shoes: burgundy on buck white--the soles buff yellow) her eyes violet, Liz Taylor eyes, her complexion island mulatto, oriental, perhaps one third Irish smooth face turned toward the glass.
A woman sat next table over in a ten year old summer blouse behind the color of her USA Today logo.
I guessed she listened to the dialogue coach.
Diane had on a batik thin canvass vented top.
She'd lime glossed shimmery nails.
She said, "I'm still amazed what you say here is transmitted by electricity and satellite anywhere---Fermi's Paradox---out there, in here (folding her hands, Namaste) and all things hither and yon."
Starbucks' sound system played Chariots of Fire.