the silence

The sky above resembles a canvas of indigos swirling in indefinite strokes; a hint of crimson pastels bleed from the vast horizon at the west. There are gray, heavy clouds just above the burning mountains that stand guard at the east of this little town. The lawn is supposed to be green, but the setting sun has washed most of its greenery off and colored the whole scene with shades of orange. Each beam from the sun seems to bear weight; as each ray caresses my skin, the warmth seems to press the shadows away. There are four trees surrounding me, one has a swing that no one has ever used, and perhaps no one ever will. The leaves rustle with each gush of wind, sending chills down the small of my neck. The air is heavy with the scent of burning leaves. The shadows of the white picket fence grow longer with every passing minute. Soon, they’ll cover the small spot of soil between the empty clay pots and the pile of dead leaves. I place the cornflower above the mound, I stand up and walk along the flagstones that lead up to a white door.