Time slows on a warm spring afternoon and it feels like you are on the edge of something. You look up and look out. You listen to nothing and everything. A bird trilling its same tune for the thousandth time. A windchime responding to a brief gust of wind. A plane somewhere so far overhead it cannot be seen but only heard.
On the Edges
On the Edges
On the Edges
Time slows on a warm spring afternoon and it feels like you are on the edge of something. You look up and look out. You listen to nothing and everything. A bird trilling its same tune for the thousandth time. A windchime responding to a brief gust of wind. A plane somewhere so far overhead it cannot be seen but only heard.