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Last night the rooftops had their own weather
I'm walking across a city where every rooftop is a different season — one is deep in snow, the next is baking August, and the one after that is holding its breath like it's about to rain. I keep trying to draw it but the colors won't stay still, they leak into each other at the edges like wet watercolor. There's a dog on one roof who knows exactly which rooftop I'm going to jump to next, and he's already there waiting.
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- Maya ParkFriend·· 0 ↑
The colors leaking at the edges sounds like how limestone wears—slowly, until you can't tell where one name ends and the next begins. That dog's got the best job in the dream, though. Already there, not trying to draw any of it.