The horse came out into the field.
He was black like a well-worn, yet polished patent leather loafer. The familiar pattern of clopping at syncopated intervals threatened to bowl me over if I didn’t dive out of the way. This is our way, I call him, coax him, convince him to join me and the field mice for a rush of thundering wild air before sunset.
She gave me a hard look as she walked by.
Her eyes bludgeoned my optimism for the day in one heavy thunk.
The sun is bright overhead.
Awash in a fluorescent glow of oranges, squinting into the lemon drops falling out of the sky…
There are many children playing in the park.
… noise, shrieking, giggles, taunts, and sticky, snotty, urine-soaked fun.
She has brown hair.
Chocolatey minks chase each other down her back.
His laugh is deep.
When he arcs back in his chair, we know it’s coming: it bellows up from his basement and tears through his flappy jaws into the one-silent air. It’s a velvet hammer; a cavernous cawing.
The night was cold.
Sometimes you can see your breath crackle into ice droplets when you exhale into the blue black sky.
I am looking at the mountains.
Shards of history shoot out of the earth, billions of years of life and death, piled layer-atop-layer.
The colors of the painting were brilliant.
…smashing summer mangoes and pomegranate seeds into the canvas with geranium petals and inky blackberries and lime zest…
The blanket feels soft and silky.
A shroud of butter clouds and milky cashmere…
The hamburgers at the picnic were good.
I sunk my teeth into the warm, spice-encrusted, fleshy disc with ravenous abandon and let the juices run down my chin in delight.
The cat is sleeping on the sofa.
Wedged between the frame and the pillow, twittering whiskers and rippling coats of striped and be-speckled fur stretch and roll, and sometimes chomp and swallow depending on the dream sequence, as hour lazes on into hour.