Middle of July and the Midwest Summer was at it's peak...dry, crusty earth encroached where the bright green and lime of Spring once flourished.
The grit of the concrete bleached white from the unyielding heat felt like a bread stone fresh out of the oven. Everything was black with shadow or white in the unprotected glare. The pillars along the walkway cast perfect ink lines onto the sidewalk and the shaded wall. The only distinguishing features were the dim track mounted lights that were useless now but would serve their purpose in a few hours as the sun set to my back and over my right shoulder. All then would fade to a welcomed cool black...black as night.
1156 - Harvest - Sunday Whirl (Wordle #321) presents a list of words that we must incorporate in a writing piece. The words this week are: possible, pretense, individua...
2 days ago