Morning Time

Chirps in the distance
a faint silhouette of a soundless squirrel
Leaves scattered on the ground
a wing as a heartbeat whooshes past
engulfed by precipitation that sticks like syrup
Water strewn across my poorly tied shoes
A faint light masked by the thick belly of clouds
the moistness of the air falls upon my taste buds
a breeze grazes the wavy trees
the indescribable squeaks of shoe after shoe on the wet ground
a door grabbed by the wind, who's grip than loosens
The breeze glides under my nostrils
and every once in a while
to break the silence
a flash