Walden Chronicles I

April fools morning. I have it in my mind and plan to swim. The first for the season.

Eight am. The sky churns white smoke grey. The air, damp chill. The crocuses close their faces to spring. They blush tears.

Noon. The sun warms my skin aglow. More than I have felt since the clock turned thirteen, months ago. In Boston streets I think of Walden woods. Wind skittled cobble stones in the shadows.

Three pm. Sixty three degrees. I drive. Clouds sneak across sun face until it shatters into a million silver white lights. In rear, heavy belt of thunder grey weighs the sky to earth.

Pass through a quick curtain of slat needling silver rain. Fifty seven degrees. A car number plate reads “GDLUCK”

First swim of the season.



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