Avenue

The chapter I'm writing starts with this setting a side street that goes for a block and ends at a ravine. Boxes are stacked in the hallway. The crimson trees outside are still, but I know something stirs. The laptop screen glows as I write. I'll close the cover soon but the story never ends. A veil of clouds hides the sky. I'll grab a quick bite and do my laundry for something clean to wear. A birthday card I meant to send lies on the floor. The friend wrote that he moved from his house to assisted living, his life shrinking from seven rooms to two. I cried when it rained last night for a woman I once loved. It is November and the weather is changing. I moved here three weeks ago and occupied the second floor to find my time and place.