Katrina Kaye

I pass the time thinking of clothes drying on the line, a breeze dancing the arms of a shirt. I think of a girl reading a book on her bed, lying on her belly, feet swaying back and forth, back and forth like unheard beats of a metronome. I think of an ocean just beyond sight with dark waves and white froth as it reaches and pulls, reaches and pulls.

To pass the time, I suck on hard candy, drink a local beer, and pretend to know purpose, but I only know the rustle of wind, broken glass in the aisle, a little girl’s squeal and laugh, and the sound of rain as it breaks from the clouds which have hung heavy all afternoon. At once, it becomes music.

I wonder where the hopeful and heart beat are finding comfort tonight. The train seems to go on forever and the destination has long been forgotten. It’s easy to forget where we are going as the years creep up and over us. It’s easy to follow the familiar track without much thought or question. It’s easy to just hold your hand out into the wind and feel the world pass by without much thought for anything else.

There is nothing to prove. If we have learned anything, it is that the sun will rise eventually, regardless of whether or not we howl at the moon.