The Walker

There is a ripe, peach-colored aura that heralds each dawn and every dark. It sits between the mountains and divides my life on slopes and into bars.

Here is something on the walker bridges that works to slow my late-for-work gait. Here is something so bouyant in the whispering smokestacks, frozen in the glow.

The same path, same faded colors in the sky. And it's nice to take a breath, knowing full well the days go by too fast in these winter months, and that the sun is just over the horizon.