![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Also, can this day go on for any longer?
Look, I'm so tired I'm writing pretentions little wossits. Damnit. :(
+++++
There's a patch of grass right between the railroad tracks that remains stubbornly alive, through dry summer heat and suffocating winter cold. It's dusty green in color, with patches of pale brown dirt showing between and beneath; it's little more than thinly-spread scrub that crunches under your feet.
Trains pass every day at precisely five o'clock. She takes off her shoes and stands with her toes curled in the dirt and lets them roar past her without looking up. In late summer the air stirred up is hot and tastes of dust and the late sun is hot on her bare arms. Under her feet, the grass is prickly and dry.
Buried in the ground are a thousand soft voices that build up into a roar that matches that of the train. Old ghosts linger even after their bodies have turned to dust and blown away, human and animal and other. She listens and lifts her hands to show she hears.
Look, I'm so tired I'm writing pretentions little wossits. Damnit. :(
+++++
There's a patch of grass right between the railroad tracks that remains stubbornly alive, through dry summer heat and suffocating winter cold. It's dusty green in color, with patches of pale brown dirt showing between and beneath; it's little more than thinly-spread scrub that crunches under your feet.
Trains pass every day at precisely five o'clock. She takes off her shoes and stands with her toes curled in the dirt and lets them roar past her without looking up. In late summer the air stirred up is hot and tastes of dust and the late sun is hot on her bare arms. Under her feet, the grass is prickly and dry.
Buried in the ground are a thousand soft voices that build up into a roar that matches that of the train. Old ghosts linger even after their bodies have turned to dust and blown away, human and animal and other. She listens and lifts her hands to show she hears.