Dusk Was Yesterday

Alone, I drive along the midnight, winter road. My left hand at the 12 o’clock position of the steering wheel. And I coast. I let out the day’s long breath, which started out today as a sigh. Somewhere off in the distance, I imagine rain hitting a living-room window, a crackling fireplace close at hand. It’s just as cozy here. By now I’m no longer driving along the road, but rather, the road comes to meet me. Every second of every minute, like microscopic, glacial waves, lapping one after another. Street lamps pass me by like stars seen from a rocket ship, and each illuminated pocket—a spotlight for a tired actor. Or rather, one that’d like to sit this one out, and let someone else bask in it for a while. The lights begin to blur, each flicker a whisper of a story kept secret, guiding me through the night’s gentle fold. I pass by stranger’s homes, hoping they’re resting their thoughtful heads on soft pillows, wondering what kind of lives they live. I wish I could see their faces when I tell them they’re beautiful. I bet they have kind eyes. As nice as it sounds to rest, I think I’ll keep driving for a while. A simple wheel and pedals can take me anywhere I want to go. It can also lead me in circles. But right now, I think I’m exactly where I want to be.

Brandon Arnold is not a fancy wordsmith or written word artisan. He keeps things simple. His home resides in an unremarkable town in the Midwest of the United States. Brandon also has work forthcoming in the Hooghly Review.