Silhouette: January Morning

The low angle of January’s
early morning light
slides across the bistro table,
casts long, indistinct shadows
across the blank white sheets
of paper there, awaiting ink
the same way the freshly fallen snow
on the sidewalk outside
awaits the first few bootprints
of the new day. He stares at blank
pages, unable to cobble together
even two simple images,
regardless of their simplicity.

His attention and his vision
wander outside, through the
rapidly frosting glass and
across the expanse of accumulating snow,
then up toward the windows
of the shabby apartments
above the deserted shops,
the ghosts that haunt Main Street.
Most of them are empty. A few
have thin and ratty curtains,
but most do not.

In one window, cracked
and nearly opaque, a man
of about his own age sits,
backlit by a bare bulb, clearly
engrossed in what appears,
from his bistro vantage point,
to be a furious scribbling,
hardly stopping to look up,
lost in a blizzard of words.
ragtag

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RDP Thursday – Blizzard
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3 thoughts on “Silhouette: January Morning

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