Black is the color of a strangled rainbow.
On the drive home from work last night, after a quick jaunt to the grocery store, I passed by a yard where a young man was furiously digging post holes for what is probably an oncoming fence, while an older gentleman leaned against a nearby car, playing a tenor saxophone.
Of course.
• • • • •
I haven’t forgotten about the Feast. It is only just beginning. Unfortunately, the timing couldn’t have been more wrong as work has ramped up tremendously this week and at the end of each day, I’m too mentally drained to even face this.
More to come.
