Sharp Edges

A long walk around the city and I’m almost home. I haven’t walked the edge off my mood as I’d hoped, I’ve just worn my body down. I take a good look at the sky when I get to the busy corner by the park. There’s a blanket of grey-orange tinted cloud covering the eastern two-thirds of the sky; and there’s a long crack cut through the cloud, north-to-south. The street corner is bright, so I head into the playing field to have a better look.

It’s definitely not natural phenomenon. They aren’t fuzzy organic cloud edges. They’re straight and sharp.

I hear the drone of a plane coming in from the northwest and turn to watch. As the plane plows into the cloud, the cloud dissipates around it, leaving a distinct curving path of black sky. I now understand that the clouds are at the altitude that planes descending into Sea-Tac reach when they’re over Seattle. I watch another plane come in, it slips right through the original path, not disturbing any clouds. Air traffic controllers, I figure, bring planes in along just a small handful of flight paths.

My back is stiffening up and it’s time for me to walk the last three blocks home. I give the flight paths one more look and half-yell, “Blah,” at them. A shooting star falls as if in response to my weak grunt.

Categorized as Before


  1. Love the new look… clean and simple and so complementary to your succinctly poetic words. Who’s the man with the dog?

  2. Thank you, Kat.

    I don’t know who the man is. I have a few old snapshots of strangers that I’ve picked up at different places.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *