The Lost Road

June found its way into the backyard, nestled between the moon shadow and forgotten bicycle rust. "The postman knows..." whispered a voice from beyond the wooden fence. Maybe it was the clock that never ticked, or perhaps the cat.

Do you remember autumn's whispers? When leaves perform the ballet only we wanted to be a part of but never were? In autumn's embrace, the dreams fold like paper cranes made of deadlines. There was laundry on the line.

A tune hummed under midday sun, always the same, winding through those brick-laden streets that led to nowhere in particular. Childhood's laugh echoing in the hollow of adult concerns — did you hear it?

The smell of the sea when you turned left at the old mill. The old man with the wooden leg sat on the porch, counting the waves that never seem to stop. He knew a thing or two about roads. Or maybe about the sea.