Thursday, September 1, 2011

returning to the story

There is the detour that brought me here, for this was never my destination, this was not even a stop on my journey, did not so much as appear on my map, yet here I am in spite of myself, held in place by winds and roads that permit no exit, but always return me back to where I am. The ice melted and the rivers ran high and the bridges consolidated traffic to one or two streams of movement; I was packed and on the road like everyone else, had no reason not to follow the path so marked by the rushing waters and the opened roads.



reading
decomposed Britannica pages

weather
we were left with two bushels of apples and twenty pounds of peaches, our haul for the season