Hampshire

Chilly. Autumn Evening. The landscape was drenched in a purplish blue. Birds whispered wishes of restful sleep. The streetlights , held by steel necks gave off an orange radiance of dying stars. The ground was still wet from the heavy rain earlier that evening, leaving the radiance splitting and bleeding on the sidewalk, into the street, on the orbs of wetness hanging on the grass. I am walking she thought. Ordinary, but strange and wonderful when outside yourself for a spec of stillness, however small. At another time she imagined the sky purple and humans with tails. In her mind, it would've made us more gentle. A practice in logic was not the purpose of these thoughts. What was it  to her, to anyone really in such moments? Argument was just a waste of words. The things that need defending can speak of their own accord, in their own tongues. Listen. As she walked, she closed her eyes as the wind blew on her face. Eyes closed, her mind is racing to places far away, distant kingdoms, the future and other worlds. Her hands move to the invisible orchestra, opening and closing slender fingers, humming. This would inevitably turn into dancing. Such a thought brought a joyful sadness, all these thoughts and lives ending, like a dying star. Stars and I are alike then, I the breath and we share a grave. She paused a long while on the sidewalk and sighed. She lifted here hands and spread her fingers: "I am a phoenix."