The air was crisp, a lone beacon left behind to perpetually peer from it’s window. All it’d seen was swirling white for days on end, yet it never wavered in it’s watch for all who left.
She held up her handheld lamp and stepped out of her house. Perhaps it was the evening rush hour; but the neighbourhood street was eerily quiet, and the streetlights were not lit.
The only source of light was hang below her right hand.
She peeked around. And tried to see further.
There were some brightness from afar. Maybe it was just a power outage.
The air was crisp, a lone beacon left behind to perpetually peer from it’s window. All it’d seen was swirling white for days on end, yet it never wavered in it’s watch for all who left.
The lamp shines quiet on the succulent in the modpodged glass jar, a captive sun for a tiny desert. Mini cactus reaching up
She held up her handheld lamp and stepped out of her house. Perhaps it was the evening rush hour; but the neighbourhood street was eerily quiet, and the streetlights were not lit.
The only source of light was hang below her right hand.
She peeked around. And tried to see further.
There were some brightness from afar. Maybe it was just a power outage.