The Stories Beneath the Signal
Every red light is a paragraph halted in time, where destinies intersect
for an invisible heartbeat. Yesterday, a woman whispered secrets
to an awaiting bench; today, the wind carries stray words spoken half-remembered.
~~ - - ~~
The crosswalk signals blush green, their hollers unnoticed by customary passersby.
Armand shuffled his tarot cards as they crossed. There was future in the shuffle, or was it the past? A card slipped from fate's pocket, landing unfathomably clear in violet ink. Witness the weave, it dared.
Wiper blades carve raindrops into wandering affects and impressions squeak rusty.
Ella strummed a chord on an imaginary guitar
just waiting for the traffic to part.
"Once here, never again,"
she hummed, striking rhythms on another world.
"You do know that signal philosopher spots aren’t commonplace for our kind?”
whispered a less-tentative shade unfamiliar to summer breath.
Lines of passing cars sketch stories that you can see only if you observe long enough. He noticed, but where did those lines seem to go?