...

Thin wisps of smoke dance like tendrils ever-reaching, crawling up the eggshell walls and onto the window’s sill. Dowsing the feet of tiny green soldiers placed along the veneer as though a flooding balustrade, smoke claws for substance in await of dissipation, the taut spirals weaving in and out and in, braidlike, feminine, as it’s stalks like polyps dance their last and reach the end of glee.

Panes of mired glass rest unevenly ‘twixt the crossbeam of the window’s frame, casting showers of dull yellow light throughout the open spaces in the room. Beams of sun seep earthward through the cracks in the outstretched cumulus overhead. Helios in metered strides bounds lengthwise across the face of mountains, chasing the ghost of Eos and the comfort of Selene, striking the Earth caustic, scattering like cattle the wearied remnants of night.