Sunlight
Bright things that warm.
Sunlight
‘The nature of finite things as such is to have the seed of passing away as their essential being: the hour of their birth is the hour of their death.’ – G. W. F. HEGEL
The afternoon is later than it feels. The sky becomes a sunsetting yellow. The kind of color a cowboy would have to walk toward. The window above my head opens, and Lee calls out to me that some game is on. I look toward the door where, always one second ahead, there is the possibility of myself. I think, Don't hurry. I stand slow. But don't wait.
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