Myths
I had even less time this week. Hopefully I'll get to edit this, but if not at least here's something.
There was a whisper in the town. It blew down the steaming streets and sulked in the well-groomed hedges. An unwitting robin carried it from 8th Street to the corner of Monroe, where it blew about in the wake of the city bus and floated down, where I stumbled across it. There was a whisper in the town.
I don't personally have anything against old people. Excuse me; the elderly. I simply find that when around them I tend to feel awkward. As though all the words that may have been spoken to them between the present and the time of their death had prematurely fallen, heavy and flat to the ground. So it was with no disrespect that I tried to avoid the man with the white eyebrows, coming down the street with his cane in my opposite direction. If it hadn't been for that whisper, I would have succeeded.
As he came nearer he drew in a large breath. "Town fulla spider eyebrows" he said, as one might comment on the weather. "Town fulla dusty snakes, dragon elbows. Town fulla broken daisy petals."
It was my instinct to look away. It was my instinct to drop my letter in the mailbox and climb onto the waiting city bus. But instead I looked at him, and didn't see his wrinkles or his thick sunglasses.
There's a whisper in the town.