Trying To Catch The Echoes

To fading music under a red neon shine, I swept the floor. Time stole another night and soon the bar's crowded laughter tapered into sighs.

I stood alone after closing time, drying my eyes with a dirty rag. With cupped hands I thought I could catch the echo of beautiful things, but heard only my feet on a dirty floor.

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I am tired and Thanksgiving is coming. As late autumn color fades early from the sky and sunsets flare against a looming winter, scents of seasoned firewood drift in the air.

It's a short week because we all need to stuff a turkey.

Just give me a glass of wine and leave me alone to dream.