Colours

Here:
It looks like a child's drawing; sky of milk, meet green earth.
this continues for a stretch until it is intercepted by a lonely swing.
It swings by itself, never touching the ground, moving where-ever the wind whispers to it to go
yet bounded by its stand stuck firmly in the earth.

she sits on the swing, feet never touching the grass below it, alone, going against the wind's directions.

Now:
sometimes, when I close my eyes and I listen to something,
I imagine that I hear the world in colours.

Then:
I suppose I wouldn't have noticed how rich and vibrant the world was in colour if not for that unknown black dog, it's head raised to the sky, as if challenging the world to go on- defy me.
it was juxtaposed against the exact same colours of Here.
it was beautiful.

maybe I would have heard it howl a long, plaintive rich copper coloured cry or maybe that howl would have been stolen by the jealous wind screaming through the land.
while the clouds black with worry growled foreboding
and the lightning hopped and hoped to sizzle someone in a flash of white.

But she pulled me away before I could get closer.

Now: I'll never know