Sunspots

I hate the open sky and the long road. I reject the bitter cold of the blazing sun; its wavering mirage blisters my horizon.

Rainbow Vision

Rainbow legging-clad stems, long as an early August afternoon, carry her lithely dancing through the heat of Tanasbourne.

Unencumbered by her short skirt, no more than a thin veil fluttering around narrow hips and briefly clinging to smoothly pale thighs, my rainbow vision is the only sign of life in the greyed out crowd.

So I click my heels, not to return home, but to fly over the essential colors of light streaming as a beacon to the pot of gold at their end.