It’s hot. Bright. Sunlight bouncing blindingly through crystal clear air, off of everything, everywhere.
Except for the short, gray bursts from passing clouds, there is no shade at all.
White, fluffy clouds that would be beautiful if not for the stark and blinding whiteness of them all. They float patchedly, slowly across flat, bright blue skies.
It’s hot, still and silent. The air is dead.
A dark, blonde woman stands in a road and shades her face with her hand. A hand that is wilting over her forehead. There is a shadow over her head and face, like she is wearing a hat, but she is not wearing a hat. She’s wearing a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled up. Khaki pants with a black belt. She has a leather case in the other hand; flat and soft leather, brown, with a handle. There is some sort of jacket over her arm.
The road and empty bright horizon ahead is reflected in her sunglasses. The blue of the sky stirring up oily rainbows across the mirrored lenses. It’s a desolate, deserted scene and the woman is alone. Looking down the road like she’s expecting someone… Something. It seems cliche, like a movie.
Who is she? What is it? There is something within this scene… Some reason to see it.
I cannot say I know, at the moment it’s poetry, a simple scene in time in someone’s imagination… A moment recorded; where one steps out into a surreal stillness where the earth meets the air and sky. Empty, hot and bright. Still and vacantly quiet.
Peace within the foreboding landscape.