The voices outside begin to roar. The enunciations begin with a rich and what would seem to be oily coating. Their thickness bends through the rattling window panes, intense and upfront, they can only be described as a concurrent flavor bomb of madness. By the time the permutations traverse the pinched carpet and termite charred doorframes, the frequency has become muted and less distinct. Watered down and soft, the peppered heat is now creamy and mellow. I am hardly disappointed, yet I feel let down and disingenuous. Just once I would like to be met with an upfront kick smacking my face with a sense of urgency that requires an immediate return in kind. Four walls produce four corners, if you remain within their borders, so will the intentions of the days. With a wandering thought, the short, but sweet finish of solidarity begins to trail off. Cautiously following the unanswered that chooses to linger behind, I find myself gazing out past a hopeful glare that dances along the sill that frames my perceptions. Buoyed by the amber reflection that explodes with imagination, I cannot help but lick my lips. Now that it is quiet, I wonder… will the colors taste just as exquisite?