The sighs of miles

I thought I had the words. I thought I had them because this morning while riding my bike from the train station to work, I found myself enjoying the very act of breathing. The air felt late and thoroughly warmed through, a twang of diesel and cut grass wafting through like hot sauce that purifies and elevates the flavors of the entire meal.

The rest of the world moved mechanically by like a well-tuned, slow-turned music box. I could even hear the tinkling notes through the cotton air. As timeless as it felt, it ended abruptly when I went inside the office building.

Maybe I've accepted autumn.

I'm going to go hit "Publish" on some old draft entries that only contain a sentence or two. There's some fiction mixed up in here, words written just for their joy at being seated next to one another. This entry isn't one of them, but they're in here. In case you wondered.