Weather

Spring is always too early. Almost no one thinks so, certainly not homeless people, not insects or woodland creatures. Even people who live in heated homes look out their glass windows and sigh heavily about the lack of sunshine. But for me, spring comes too soon, without fail. The temperatures rise without regard for what I wish; the mercury of my emotions falls in a flawless mirror.

My eyes feast on the colors of springtime blossoms, but my heart sinks with their coming, for hot, sticky summer lurks just beyond the horizon, waiting to swallow me up in misery.

Squeaky shoes

Her new shoes were huge; she bought bellbottoms to hide them. Her new shoes were squeaky. At the office, she walked through the carpeted areas, head down, and cringed inwardly at each loud, creaking step. She was not interested in engaging in the loose circles of employees chatting around the coffee maker, but her shoes announced her presence as she entered every room. People would look up, wait expectantly. She would smile and look for something in her pockets. They would return to their conversations.

Every morning she put on the shoes. Told herself she didn’t look that bad. Every morning she forgot how squeaky her new shoes were until she was around people. Until it was too late, when everyone had already heard her coming.