I live in an apartment. It is in the upper left corner of our building. Behind our building, four porches jut out. Each one is made of concrete. A sliding door connects our dining room with our porch. Beyond the porch, I can see trees and bushes, and beyond them, the sky. There are no clouds, allowing the sky to stretch unhindered, its blue shifting hue as it spreads.
The sun is beginning to set, bathing patches of the porch with warmth. Shadows seep along the concrete in lines and blotches. A home-made bird house rests on top of a plant-holder, adding its own shadow-pattern to the rest. A bush in its pot sits mostly in shadow, the sun touching only the tips of its leaves. It is dying. We left it outside too long without water, too long in the heat and frost.
The sun is gleaming between the bushes beyond our porch, revealing gravel and the train tracks that run along the top. It looks like a passageway into a world that does not belong here.
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Writing without adjectives is hard. XD I probably failed.
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