Strange, strange morning sky today; multilayered textures, smooth plane of space with every form of cloud a part of the morning traffic jam north to Hartford. The lowest, a ragged factory-smoke colored curl is also the slowest moving. And colors…at least fifteen shades of grey. I sense the light is struggling to get through them, filtering through enough to highlight edges here and there. But the overall picture is blank and bleak. The air smells clean but tired from being blown around all night. Wonder how the day will go from here.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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