Romance

The fifty-degree chill, the blue skies. The afternoon left open by work that finished itself sooner than planned. We took a drive along almost empty roads, increasingly horse-drawn-carriage roads. Bill had his camera. I had mine. No one bothered us.

There was one man on horseback high on a wavering hill.

There was a stubby-legged horse in a pasture of cows.

There were glints of unpicked corn in a dried-out patch.

There were pumpkins and two boys playing baseball.

There was this line of laundry hung out to dry.

I have not written any literary thing but this blog for too long now. Too much work in my head, a congestion. Today felt like the beginning of breathing. The remembering of seeing. A particle of romance.