They Still Collect Cardboard

A movie plays in my head. It’s my bike ride home. The one I’m on right now. My head swerves back and forth on the swivel of my neck, overly relying on my eyes frantic movements to always be aware of my surroundings as I ride through the rural city. I watch this movie as my body acts it out.

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The Last Persimmon of Winter

The fiery orb is a vision. Perched high above the heads of passing silhouettes it stares back into a black landscape sketched out by the fresh snow. The ornament on the grey tree unnoticed. It sits lonely on a branch illuminated by the adjacent streetlight. Snow falls gracefully unaffected by its presence, just as it has seemed unaffected by the weather for all these months.

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