The sun inches above the highway into the kitchen. Yellow stained curtains diffuse its golden light on to the back wall. From the darkened hallway emerges an ally who, when passing into the light, explodes in blinding radiance.
From the edge where haze meets shadow a hand appears reaching for the window. Outside below in the courtyard a giant bonsai grows gnarled and blackened with disease. A wind kicks up and scents the kitchen with cantaloupe and scripture, a daisy in a green glass vase on a cream tablecloth. The glasses are aluminum and the water is cold. This kitchen smells like the blissful instant that explodes out of reach when you have seen your uncle for the last time.