a frisbee left in the yard, weed
growing hair-like over the street,
the lawnmower left murmuring
deep into the night, cars swoop
by looking for prey, as trees bend
for a better view, the voyeurs’
leaves and branches, the house
is full of silence, and there is
plenty of unlight, yet absence
of cold, as the mold deigns to
become another coat of paint,
a green suede against the back-
drop of an early autumn, and
the television is unaccompanied,
left to its own devices, a family
could live here if there were
alive, and there is little to be
complained about, who would
not want to live in a painting,
silence in every stroke of the
brush painting everything
once over, the revolution of
the earth but a buzz in some
other corner of some other
house, preferably the one
with the neighbour who
never says hi, and who never
trims the hedges the way you
want, nobody walks around
here in the day, and everyone
throws parties out the window
in favour of gratitudes, and
other trinkets to keep on their
overcrowded mantelpieces,
the chimneys less functional
and more nuclei-like, last
night’s coffee left to dry in
the sink, and how dare you
say there is ever any peace

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.