Colorful Day
The day begins in monochrome
A slate-gray morning sliding across the asphalt
I wait at the bus stop while the fog blankets the grass
my thoughts still heavy and half-formed
moving through the predictable grid of hours—
equations, old wars, and the blue glow of digital screens
But the afternoon shifts on its axis
In the crowded air of ELA and the sharp logic of debate
the room suddenly gathers its light.
A tall, golden-headed silhouette catches the sun
and the air grows thin between us,
punctuated only by the blue flash of an accidental glance
across rows of desks
Later, the day accelerates
My breath turns to silver music through the keys of a flute
a syncopation that carries over to the gym floor
where the squeak of sneakers on hardwood echoes
and our shadows cross and blur in the rush of the court
By nightfall, the quiet morning is totally forgotten
The stadium bleachers hum beneath stadium lights
cold autumn air lunging against the warmth of the crowd
I lift my instrument under the stadium lamps
our brass and woodwind fanfare fracturing the dark
ending the day in a brilliant, chaotic burn
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