The Slow-Cooked Sentence

October cleaning

Rachael Conlin Levy

I sweep shadows. A small galaxy of dust spins overhead as spiders skitter across the concrete. They’re sketched from pencil and fade into invisibility. It’s easier to spot their shadows than their corporeal selves. And I marvel at the air around my feet, which flickers, not from waning sunlight, but from their frightened dance.

3 responses to “October cleaning”

  1. Beth says:

    Beautiful, Rachael.
    I read recently from Terry Tempest’s book, When Women Were Birds, that because stars disintegrate when they fall into our atmosphere, we breathe stardust. You really are sweeping up a small galaxy- and the spiders know it.

  2. Rachael says:

    Beth, I haven’t read Terry Tempest William’s in a long time, but I’ve enjoyed her work. Perhaps it’s time to search her out again.

  3. kyndale says:

    I love it. I had to read it over and over. xo

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