She says to me – “detail, detail detail”

For a moment,

I can’t understand what she means.


Does she mean the circular flickering light on the box above me at the bus stop I am standing under protecting myself from silver bullets uncurling my chestnut-hued waves in the midst of a dewy dawn breeze?

Or the fading, carved out burgundy wooden letters that look familiarly out of place, tucked ever-so slightly away on the corner of the prehistoric roof that either has the ghosts of ancient money remnants or street rats scurrying away or both?

Oh, I know!

She must mean the thin piece of peeling bark that reminds me of a nail scratching at a chalkboard, exposing it’s freshly grown, pine scented skin.

Maybe she is talking about the one, singular, pin straight whisker on the gentle kitten’s face that bends just noticeably slightly to a perpendicular angle.

My mind wanders and wanders.

Wondering what she means by detail.

Until I realize,

This is exactly what she wanted of me – to notice the details.


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