Waiting to be written

It is hard to stop writing when you are once again in the writer's mindset. Any object, any living thing, any person around us is a protagonist.

I go up on my deck to water the tomato plants and notice the daily changes in the plant's life. Tomatoes are warming and reddening, but also branches are withering. I prune off the dying branches and give the orange tomato another day to ripen.

Above the neighbor's air conditioner, which, in its droning, has become background noise only noticed when it shuts off. I hear the flapping of a pigeon's wings as she hastens across the street to a nearby rooftop. Where would pigeons live if there were no cities?