The best stop you can make
Ten minutes between the populace, beyond the limits of the county line and over the hills where the quiet remains. Strangers walk strangely nudging loud anxious horns leering long into the exotic.
Slow and deliberate, the wheels of the car go round and round. Round and round. Swinging of the screen door, once a casual pass, feels for the soft embrace of catching the wind to gently come together with the frame.
Everything slows down for one reason or the other. And the other happens to be the one reason. Time waits for no man but the man who waits along the highway pass. Watching and counting as the cars and trucks go by. Sighing to bide the time go by asking why the birds don't fly.
Over the hill and far away exists the servo where nobody knows. No time, no rhyme, no travel outside the county line.
As the sign defines: "The Best Stop You CAN Make."
Beyond lies a steep drop to nowhere
Could not, would not, should not say only more than time to bake.
Friday, 14 March 2008
Talking about:
» Talkin' 'bout your Generation - Spare the room, spare the bed
« In Cold Blood - Truman Capote
Previous entries on Nothing
- Save a stolen slice of pecan pie
- Snow way to wake up
- Spooks come out to play after dark
- One versus the many for Amnesty
- San Francisco captures many things
- Tracking down the non-existent
