I’m driving home. It’s late, after a long day of programming and dance. Alt rock on the radio, and the rhythmic clicking of bones roll through the warm air. It’s cold outside, and the windows are up. The soft whir of air-conditioned heat barely intrudes over the quiet moan and thud of the tires.
The lines are dancing.
Rolling and weaving,
Soft yellow circles
Dancing through the night.
Flick, flick, flick,
They race past my window.
Looping, circling, linked together.
I smile as I watch them. The miles click by, I’ll be home soon. I stop for a moment to let them catch their breath while I open the window and feel the cool wind on my face. They’re a little quieter now, waiting for the right moment to start their siren dance once again.