The pattern on the front caught my eye. The handwritten card was smeared by the rain. Dirt filled the creases. The words were about kisses and the moonlight. The writer’s name has

Listening to Sam Cooke and he found a rhyme for plebeian. It was “me and.”

I’ve been listened to long recordings of nature sounds to help me focus on writing. Falling rain. Rushing streams. Babbling brooks. And I’m pretty sure I can hear a car door

A teenaged girl came into the library. She smelled like french fries.

The trees are still. There is no wind. But there is one leaf at the top of one tree that is dancing furiously to a breeze that only it feels.