ever listened to your voice?
Lights. The rays fell on the tall Douglas fir trees, summer that it was; their transparency complimenting the bright green of the leaves to reflect back a bright orange. An orange that I saw every morning, when I looked out of my window, peeking occasionally as I went about the ritual of getting ready for work. Do not turn the hands of the clock, but picture it with a 'PM' instead of the much despised 'AM'. Twelve hours later, every evening, after a scheduled day in the office, I sat on a brown couch, on the fourteenth floor, with a book to tinker my creativity. I looked up, almost periodically, to allow my mind some breathing space, and I faced the window. The rays were still there, summer that it was; their colors showing through the clouds, a palette that would start with light blue, visit a dark purple before finally deciding to take the color of the night, black, at 10PM. Lights. I had been here before, in Vancouver, not long ago. It was for four months, for