In an old barn is something almost remembered. In the faded corn powder and littered straw, boards creaking underfoot; between the rafters and soft dirt below – something.
Be it near or in a land far, far, away – be it short or long ago as once ever was, Purple Hippo grew bored with the generous circumference of her purple-ness. Therefore and by second-day free shipping, she caused many packages to arrive at the door.
Lizard armed himself with a pocket calculator.
Instinctively he knew the need of some advantage in life. And, he slept that night with the brushed metal face of his newfound strength held dearly to his breast.
A Troder is the least promising of all things wandering the hills. Even a rock exibits more pizazz and huzzah toward it’s lessons.
It was a perfect night to see what she could do.
Midnight on a smooth stretch of a remote two-lane, the air was crisp, the stars shining hard and bright. Lights glowed warmly from the truck’s dash radio and gauges. Of the carefully restored interior, the bench seat even had original springs.
Ventura’s neighborhood, long paling in the shadow of greater Los Angeles, was reduced to two blocks of crumbling homes. Their architecture remembered the days of street-cars clanging down Main, barefoot strolls for watermelon, the neon spoked cartwheels of Ferris-wheel nights, and dreamily attending Sunday matinee. Comparatively, the times spoke then of the endless youth of summer. Now it was late autumn.
With a hand cupped to her mouth, at the top of the porch steps, she called for Dan. A faint wooded echo answered, birds afield traded song, but no dog came. He was old and wandering and stone deaf now. Even so, the woman called again and scanned the countryside.
A curious thing happened about a week ago. I rode into Carlsbad to do some much-needed resupplying of water, food, and toiletries. I’ve been biking across South Central and West Texas for over a month, and once I got into New Mexico, I picked a right camping spot to wait out the cold weather further North. I wanted to make Santa Fe in the warmth of Spring.
I am the speckled egg,
the nest in the breeze,
your feet on the ground, and
the hole in your sleeve.
– Lady Villareal.