The Painted Moment

The sky is a looming grey,

The color of old asphalt to the far horizon,

Edged and interwoven with bands of white and gold.

 

Just overhead

The black silhouette of a bird

Hangs stationary,

Wings beating in slow, measured strokes,

Hovering unwillingly

In the face of chill autumn winds.

 

The world seems paused.

 

A live still-life.

 

A portrait of a moment between the in and exhale.

 

 

Waiting.

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