GOOD OLD DAYS

The wind drags a comb through

my gnarled hair

as my eyes squint against the sun,

golden,

shining crimson spots

that stayed with me for hours.

The windows fog against the chill air

and the shadows atop the horizon grew bigger still.

Morphing into skyscrapers,

grasping for the clouds that gently sway against the ocean above,

the moon starkly standing out

like a sore thumb

against the cerulean sky,

and the tires spitting rubber

as the miles go by.

Downtown in the cities,

and then down weaving roads

through the silent countrysides,

down to the sand that gets swallowed up

each time the waves dare to brush the shore,

down to where the stars shine brighter,

more clear,

than ever before.

Now,

we’re stuck at home with masks over our face,

unable to breathe in the fresh rain

that fell from the sky

or the aroma of baked goods that usually stood outside.

What happened to the good old days?