Way home

Its dark, warm. Not raining anymore. No battery on my music anymore. Store the player on my pocket, sigh.

I raise my eyes and find me walking on a well known lonely sidewalk. The artificial yellow of the street lamps manages to reach my face, dodging almost every tree leaf it finds on its way.

It’s not warm, it’s not cold… its more like perfect.

Stop, breathe.

The smell of freshly poured rain fills the night and as I walk again, the music of the neighborhood escorts the sound of my steps. Two signing crickets and an out-of-tune ciccada, an elusive squirrel that doesn’t agree it’s time to sleep playing with the bark of that big, old oak. A wooden door, soggy, creaking as the night breeze plays with its old hinges. Keep walking, don’t care about the mud beneath my feet.

The wind´s also still awake and it makes sure I know it by shaking the last rain drops from the leaves of the trees I’m walking under. Door closes.

Walking by the local public orchard. The spices fill the air with their playful, tasty fragrances, freshly squeezed by the recent rain. Spearmint, rosemary, maybe some basil. It makes me think of  you. Makes me wonder what expression you´d pull out of your collection to enjoy this tiny moment. It makes me smile. Thinking about your thousand faces makes me smile. Thinking about your big brown eyes, you make me smile…

…No more battery on my music. Yes, it makes me smile.