Mitchell Sandpits.

I walk. The wind hums. Frogs sing.

Through the sky flies a V.  Canada geese.  A beaver swims into a concrete pipe.  Waves wake behind it.  Green shoots rise among  the tall dead grass.I walk on. Purple tainted clouds set behind me.  Concrete turns to gravel. Two willows stand in the field. Yellow whips veil breaking bark. I walk. The gravel leads me around a pond.  Across the water a dog runs.Trees obscure my view. Oak, elm, maple. Pink and blue line the sky. Two dudes fish on a patch of sand. Jeans and a black tee-shirt. Dirty, torn khakis and a blue tee. I walk. The gravel crunches a soft crunch.  Black shoes, grey scuffed toes push it into nicotine colored sand.  A crane peeks from the junk yard behind me. Clunk, clunk the sound of a train skips across the water. I walk.

I look at my watch.  Ten to eight. Damn. I light a smoke and take a sip of beer.  Fuck. I turn.

The sun sets to my left. Car lights herd the highway. I walk home.

I walk through the door. I turn on the light. I take off my clothes. I walk to the shower. I walk to bed.

 I work in the morning.