and the hot, muggy air,
and jingle, jangle of the hound’s tinkling tags as she investigates, everything.
a shift from one side to the other.
a deep crack, that will eventually envelop the house whole, runs down the middle.
bicycles pulled out and dusted, a motorcycle fanned over to the wall, by the man with the vision.
and here I sit, on a cement step, watching this dance between animal and man and machine.
the broom falls over, but the loud snap is hardly noteworthy.