On The Write Path

Magic of midnight (Prague)

Magic of midnight

Magic of midnight, train clacking past cold mist that doesn't wet enough to clear tears or dampen dry shadows under autumn trees still hopeful and green. I put hands in pockets, and gloves reveal secret desires of becoming mittens. Their mission: I will not freeze tonight. Twenty past the hour and traffic calms to a roar. Along the garden paths, dark figures, cigarette lit. Almost deaf, it doesn't matter that they chatter in cadences I cannot catch. The mist caresses me, understands.

© Kåre Enga [8.octubre.2016]

Sent from Prague to Dirk Lee in Montana, 10.october.2016.

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