Lobo’s Got a New Ride

Sirens howl in the December morning frosty air the pale haze of cold morning dew. The coffee pot drips the house back into life out of the deep winter slumber. What a good time to sleep she heard him say, but she wasn’t sure if it was she who said it first. The burst came later upon the reflections of a future not yet arrived, a direction she can’t see. She thinks it will be a certain way, but unlike the three sisters of truth, her eyes can only see what is now. No way to tell, no way to sell, no way to tear away the scabs, mental that is. The chilly water stilly sits in the yard not quite frozen not quite liquid. The in between. Like evenings or early fall. An interesting time to be. Can you see a change coming in you?  An alternate history to be made? Are the fins circling you now? Or is it open sailing to the coast? Who knows. The dreams are fading away like dust settling after a truck drives down a dirt road letting all know who can see that it is there. Slowly the dust settles, the memory fades, and life goes on as it was. The undisturbed road is still till the next car comes along.

“Hey Ricky” Lobo yelled, “get her fired up, time to ride.”