Tuesday, December 15, 2009

. . .

She pauses, distracted. Forgotten is the trash bag now dangling limply from her hand. The air's heavy touch brushes across her face. Its perfume surrounds her. She tries to decipher it, but can only think of the word organic. Woefully overused, but she can't think of anything else to describe the smell of abundant growth and life underneath, despite and perhaps even because of the damp.

She's been here before. Somewhere that's not here.

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