Corn Cob

Yellow on yellow. Spots of blackened rot hover above the asphalt. I feel the slow drip of nostalgia as I sit on the curb. My high school colors were black and gold; they represent a period of my life that has long since decomposed and led to a myriad of germinations that would have been unimaginable back then.

What will emerge from this corn cob? What will emerge from the asphalt baking in the afternoon sun? All is movement, yet we experience moments as a synthesis of cohesion and form. There is stillness within the movement.

I returned the next day, and the corn cob was gone.