Walking Home at 1 AM
the silence follows me as I make my way from pools under streetlights, glinting in the puddles left from melted spring popcorn snow, falling like the petals of newly-opened apricot tree blossoms.
Far off, a dog barks, so soft from this distance that it more closely resembles the hooting of an owl. A lone car grinds up the hills, the tires whooshing in Doppler waves on an asphalt shore.
Silence slides in around me as my shoes crunch on the gravel, a window here or there illuminated by the intermittent flicker of a big screen, though most windows are dark and houses quiet, their welcome mats awaiting visitors on dimmed porches, a smatter of stars peering at me through the veil of spring snowclouds.
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