She left the door open, always waiting for her to return, yet all that ever replied was dust and shadows.
Muddled was the call of the autumn.
The bleeding colors helped him reach moments of calm.
Soft was the light, melting around the calm.
Satori sometimes escaped with Jimmy, hoping the wind would blow them somewhere new.
Having the conch would not save anyone today.
Left is where one always turns when wishing for renewal.
The vines tried to pull down the fabricated delta closer to its natural home.
He still waited for a break in the white, hoping it would come in the next month.
Kubrick's palette watched over his medium.
They stood uneasy as the horn sounded. It had arrived.
Taking a moment before he cleansed his aura.
Mobius Band, sitting shotgun in the truck, strongly disagreed.
It had been a rough day for the traveling man.
Within the bowls lay reflections of a lost childhood.
As the door slammed, they ebbed and flowed like a heavy tide, but did not go out.
In just a few hours they descended upon the small town.
Satori had never explored the Red Room before.
Crows echoed outside, signaling the Dark Mans return home.
And on the 59th mile, his shoes were no longer of any use.
Last week the wheels were square.
And the last waves of sunshine fell flat against the purple waning sun.