On
my way back to my house, I drove by the road-that-has-no-homes, something
created just before the economic crash a bit ago, so the paved straight road
interests me, come deep snows of winter, or the myriad of wild flowers
flourishing, come summer. The straight lines featuring the sky and the weather,
until this early morning, when I was all alight with the fog everywhere, and
how it changed all things, really.
I stopped for a moment to gaze at the
straight paved no-homes road, and there was one person, far at the end, walking
back and forth, back and forth; I'm guessing to maximize the number of steps,
and exercise, while not veering far from home.
Or, you know, maybe they live
far from here and travel to this very spot, all straight and no-home and all,
to do this zig zag. I'm not certain.
But the silhouette of the dark figure,
going back and forth, held me captive for a bit, as ten zillion possible
stories flooded my brain, til I bade them just to stop, stop, and I sank down
into the damp dirt on my knees, the scent of the field filling me, the heady
moist heat rising up all about me, as the figure slowly approached, and at last
I decided to go home.
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