NaPoWriMo - 14

The grass was leaning back, the ocean was combing its hair again. I can't remember whether it was dawn or dusk, just that it belonged to the indifferent grey between day and night. The earth was sinking time was less like a line and more like a glass of water taking the shape of the container it was in. The bubbles were floating mirrors, the tree caught its reflection, and picked the cones from its teeth. Breathing couldn't be heard anywhere, the earth was post-historic, and hurtled on.