The sound of no music


No music, no strand of cultured voices, just a stillness; drink in the sky as it unwrinkles its colors, from grey to a pale nothing canvas. Grey and black, the only two colors.

And then the day breaks, cracks open like an egg, a rose yoke, a dim purple froth. And the flesh becomes real again.



Author: Steven Baird

Writer, amateur photographer, ad compositor and chicken herder.

8 thoughts on “The sound of no music”

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