Tuesday, June 30, 2020


Dusk traveling down dirt roads to nowhere dimly intuits otherworldly truths. Memories get tied to those roads and places. Grainy recollections trigger squinting-eye versions of the past and what could've been the future.

Curves lead to thoughts long-gone. Trying to get lost exercises the futility of believing in fantastic possibilities. Roads go somewhere, though, and will lead there after the Sun sets and rises.

Maybe everything means more than the sum of its parts. Trees in shadow mean something other than their corporeal form. Menacing and shape-shifting clouds mean more than a storm. A horsefly hitching a ride means more than an insect traveling dozens of miles per hour.

On the old gravel roads of the mind, wheels turn. An age passes. A buzzard watches.