Waysides

Waysides holds the whispers that speak through the cracks opening between minutes. When I take walks to the park and practice listening for still moments, a mailbox near the street with no house for its address, a cat with electric yellow eyes set inside a dark, black shape, or an abandoned and decaying porch that may have warmed jars of sun tea might peak through those cracks. Waysides takes note of those fragments, pebbles, splinters left on the side of a steady flow of time and lays them on the page like pieces of glass that catch the light at odd angles.