He scuffed his shoes as he walked, imagining the soles of his shoes cutting up the damp leaves underfoot. The grey sidewalk extended forever, and almost every yard held a massive maple tree, their branches cutting off the pale afternoon sky.
Along the sidewalk, street, and yards were patches of light. The leaves were falling, even now, and the gaps they left were like stage lights, the stage crew having left them pointing every which way. His steps brought him through an illuminated area, and his steps hastened oh so imperceptibly.
Up ahead of him he could see where the trees ended, right before an intersection. Out there the whole world was exposed, naked in the absence of the comforting shade. There were no trees to keep out the sky, no houses to push away the wind.
Underneath that massive red-brown canopy he walked, scuffing his shoes as he went.
5 comments:
written while listening to:
there's a good reason these tables are numbered honey, you just haven't thought of it yet - panic! at the disco
el scorcho - weezer
sello tape - flight of the conchords
and with that being said. that's really all there is to it.
elephant shell,
you're my cave and Ive been hiding out..
--
(8)
I picture... the mushy wet dark brown kind of leaves, like mini wheats that werent eaten fast enough, you know?
damp autumn,
mm I like the idea.
i like thei mage of the stage crew leaving the lights pointed hap-hazardly.
I find it. . . difficult to wade through. And this is a cave? It sounds like a forest.
Strange thought.
you STILL havent written anything else? evan. you should be ashamed
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