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Elapse.
My flight just landed in that quiet place today.
Population: me.
It’s a milky grey.
The wind shuffles along tiny, obsolete fragment of days gone by that no one seems to remember either.
The smell of rusted jars with old notes inside.
Gum wrappers born into a night, deep under the bleachers were the nacho remnants and flavorless gums collected themselves.
We were there in such a short burst in time.
A forgotten chapter.
A universal story still being told.
Ray Strickland
July 17, 2023 Monday
