06

Today the maple tree is shuffling in the wind and waiting on the storm clouds. The grey is equalizing all the greens into a simple solemn shade, shadows retreating to the inner volume. The swallows still swoop, the rain comes and goes. Any silence lasts only as long as the space between thunderclaps, close and violent and loud. The air is cool, and the atmosphere tense. The wind picks up, and everything stirs.