Blue Rondo a La Turk

Lightning strikes colossal oak, bronze armor split like firewood by God’s electric axe, soft pithy interior exposed in winter air. Walking through the meadow, knee high grass quivering under the wind’s judgmental eye; grouse fly disjointedly into the coral sunset as I wade through the verdant ocean. A warm clap on the back as you walk through the door into the familiar living room, dust dancing in the golden sunlight pouring through a bay window. The gait of a man recently in love, thinking of soft hands suddenly adored, folding fresh linen as static electricity crackles in the dry, lavender air. Her slow walk down velvet stairs, patiently descended with lithe, slow steps draped in mystery and blood-red silk. It’s the feeling of walking into an underground gambling den, uninvited and alone.