Day 3: FALL

(A Schmoth)

As I walk to my internship in the DC morning, there are no leaves. There are no colors turning around me. The Golden Triangle cleanup crews handle that quickly. I do not smell apples or pancakes or hear crunching leaves underneath my feet.

I smell coming rain, and the euphoria and dejection following an election, and cars. I hear cable news, the news I had long rejected, blaring from every screen. This city sleeps, but only because its maddened with self-referential power when it wakes.

There are few nods, few handshakes, few acknowledgments. But still I sing of the modern city, for even where I do not see Joy, He is there.



About spsukaton

Indonesian-American Bruin, fourth-generation Adventist, history student, saxophonist, singer, writer/editor. Born in Pittsburgh, raised in smoggy Southern California, looking for a way to live and leaving scribbles in my wake. In the beginning was the Word, and I'm kind of obsessed with it.
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