when he finished work he saw how
lovely it was to deal with the end of
autumn, to walk out of the office, leave
behind the all-day geometry of the red
walls, the blue doors, the white plains
of the corridors, the glass panels of
mock-separation. yes it was lovely with
the light being so weak, the wrap of
mist, the chill cutting through and through.
as his steps took him towards
the car parked against the fence he
wondered, in how many ways, one
could find where one world fades and
another one takes shape, when his
reverie was cut short by the sudden
sound of a horse snorting and
neighing, coming from somewhere
close by. and then it was gone, except
for small pockets of sadnesses
shooting through the air. inside the
car, he turned the key. he knew he too
couldn’t stop himself from making a
similar sound, inhuman, in a silent way.


First published in Going Down Swinging, Issue 23 (2006)