
The dry pasty smell of dust and paint…tell-tale leftovers from the morning’s work.
Sheer curtains barely move at the open window, not enough to call it a flutter. Shadows on the shade. Squares and rectangles, double rows of lines. Plaid patterns of sunlight shining through the panes.
The wind works a little sound out of the chimes outside. I hear children down the street. A distant car engine, and the tick, tick, ticking, or is it a nod, nod, nodding, of a small animal. Maybe one of the smaller woodpeckers working on a tree trunk.
Emotions that feel flat. So flat they feel oppressive. So flat they feel unworthy of a sunny almost-spring afternoon.

What an interesting pattern. What interesting prose.
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Thanks!
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Great pattern. I love the visuals in your writing–and the poignant ending.
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Thank you. I appreciate that. btw, you are a very good writer. I always enjoy those short pieces you do.
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Thank you!
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