Birds That Talk
I sat there on the balcony, trying to catch as much sunbeams as I could during the small window when the star makes its cameo over the sky of Granite City. I huffed and puffed an Amber Leaf I rolled all crooked, promising myself it would be the last one. That was a lie, of course. Sounds from afar drifted about, mixing with all the voices of my past selves. A seagull here, a car engine there. Every now and then a boat blew its horn in the harbour nearby and I tried not to shit myself at the sound. There was music to it all. Notes rising and falling like lazy sighs on a Sunday morning. Percussions of heeled footsteps intermingling with the groans of those who have had enough of one thing or another. It was hard to distinguish between the sounds of the earth, and the harmonics of inner thought. I breathed in the smoke, and pondered upon this as the clouds shifted about my head.
