A handful of warm winter days in the valley. A debt of sunlight paid for with mosquito kisses that last twice as long. Scarlet palette-knife lines on the concrete. Abandoned and still-damp roller-skates. The sun swallowed by famished concrete horizons. Thinly etched silhouettes lined by strangled stars. The strong scent of pine at discarded right angles. Warnings in the absent songs of geese; "Watch what you hear."

4:31 p.m. - 2021-01-20