the sound of silence

This is the way

Fortune tellers read palms. Ancient Etruscans read the livers of sheep. I’ve been reading sidewalks. Dark purple splatters? Evidence of a mulberry tree nearby. BB-sized rounds crunching under foot? Choke cherry pits. And that gray, leaf-shaped stain, like the shadow of an object vaporized by a space alien’s destructo-beam? The calling card of a silver maple tree.

This is the way

Fortune tellers read palms. Ancient Etruscans read the livers of sheep. I’ve been reading sidewalks.