A small writing trying to put sounds on the page
Sitting on a bench, at the top of the cemetery. I expect it to be quiet because there is no foot traffic. The gushes of wind petrify my fridge. The leaves on the trees wisp side to side without a snap. The rainbow pinwheel by the gravestone for 'Baby' creates a tick each time it completes a rotation. And the wind carries its level of accomplishment up the hill, to me.
A dog is pleading to be let inside, quite loudly. Sounds as though I am the owner behind the locked door, even though they are in town. Next to the busy road, where the motor of the car turns as they burn petrol as the piston revolves. Their rubber wheels drag gravel against the concrete.
And I didn't even notice the birds on the tree next to me.
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