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Tints of Slow Yellow

The windowpane is weeping, the sky has paused its slow stalking clouds they hang now as still as rocks. There was an ill-wind last night it woke up the morning light too early. I could write on the glass with a fingertip but words would cry themselves to sleep in this unmoving dreamscape. A faint suspicion of yellow slowly creeps up to my door at a pace too endless to measure. I turn away listening for the telltale creaking of my mouth swallow this moment down switch on the TV where there may be is some activity happening somewhere.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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Date: 2/17/2023 1:03:00 PM
Great line: "a faint suspicion of yellow." Elizabeth
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Eric Ashford
Date: 2/18/2023 5:47:00 AM
Thanks for the shout-out on the line Elizabeth, it's greatly appreciated.