The White Sky Days are Here

The sun has gone in.
The white sky days are here.

They hang over the shallow streets with a torpid portentousness, a superstitious tangle of memory and fear. Restless days, nowhere and everywhere. Walking back from Em's this afternoon, and everyone I pass seems flat and not there, and I taste the blossoms in the air. A taste that has not been there for years.

Greeted like an old friend.
I am afraid some places might remain locked and lost forever.

I get to thinking about rainy Sunday afternoons, watching it get dark on obscure streets, and the air all church spire wet and Sunday evening melancholy.
Oh yes, the white sky days are here.