pulvis sumus et in pulverem revertemur
I kicked a jutting stone and it tumbled for a while, kicking up small puffs of dust behind its erratic path before finally stopping against the flat tire of a rusted, brown van. The storm yesterday had been especially cruel, and I reckoned most homes in town had succumbed to light layers of sediment and dust, spotless outlines where children crouched and coughed up sand and phlegm. I walked up to the van and wiped an ephemeral thought lost in time on its window with my pinky:
“there will be rest."