The sky is a pensive purple, darkening in the twilight.
The air is sticky and thick like a rain forest, yet bites a little as if it were October here in Ohio, and not July.
Just a little bit of thunder rolls around the edges of the atmosphere I can see. Lightening bugs bumble around like nervous musicians waiting to go onstage.
I can no longer hear the bass shaking the floor boards. I can no longer here jumping and cackling and clamour.
All I hear is the distant highway- it's faded roar provides a slate for my mind to write on.
Somewhere up there the thunder is parted to the sound of a jet engine. I can't see it, but I can't help but wonder-
who's on it? A father coming back from deployment to meet his son for the first time? Business men who make the trip every week? A family that's had enough, and will start over again where ever they land? Maybe it's just... a confused person, like me. Maybe she's sitting there looking at clouds and pondering the height she's at. Perhaps it distracts her from the million things on her mind.
It could be going anywhere... from Chicago, to Tel Aviv.
And I'm just sitting here. Escaping the inevitable.