A stout, robust orange-breasted robin hopped a lot along the ground. I passed him by as I moved, taking long strides in the morning. The grass was long and fell across itself. All the better for worms. A light rain had soaked the earth and the air smelled fresh. The leaves whispered on the trees, shaking off the dew with each breeze. The dark red maple tree was remarkably bright.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...