Journal - Page 10 of 12

Lipstick red, ladybug red, late-August-sky-on-fire red, still steaming. I could smell them from the door. Tomatoes have a smell.

A carpet of suns in spectra of yellows, oranges, burgundies, and coppers.

“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”
– Henri Matisse

Four glass walls and a glass roof. An actual garden.

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag.

“Eyes droop. Little chests lean into yours. And in the kitchen, bits of plum and strawberry on the countertop…”

An old Lebanese house by the sea. A time when people and doors were more open.

But this is a story about a wheel, an engine, and going nowhere.

Waiting by the radio for a song to play.