Friday rose to a gray morose of clouded sky, water-freeze of puddles on cement. Though a warmth had shone and lived, cold returned. Winter remained.
Through the gray, slow rising with sun, slowly it erased. She stared on the sky and from fugue, depth and dimensions returned to see; layers of clouds, textures and tones soft brushed and painted over sky; lilac shadows of the underside, white of tops in horizontal streak; show of blue between.
She didn’t want to be there, not in the city, not then, that very moment.
She wanted to be away-back to woods, to solitude, a quiet in the trees; the oaken home harbored within the stand; open breaking into pastures in beyond.
She felt her wanderlust, need for wild and free, and how—some way—it settled in a place. It was there she wished to be.
She gazed on the sky, depth and hues. Lilac shadows deepened. White streaked tops erased. All was lavender and blue; shades of tones that deepened, lightened, then erased into free of sky.
She thought of the place, open hearth, and heat of a second’s burn; tempered in covered flame, emanant of only heat strong around in aura.
She wanted to be back, at home in the woods and trees, in solitude and peace of a made second-home.