Tuesday, July 17, 2007

After work, picking up a problem child
at the healer, I took a different route.

Not big highway this time, but old road through old town.
Big highway is fast, wide, it goes far places. Like
flying in a plane, land scrolls by unnoticed,
a blur on the periphery of the tunnel of attention on people before.
Old road strolls through old town, not so fast, but faster than walking.
Thirty five, not sixty five, not seventy.
Trees stand close and offer shelter: I glide by, cool shadows soothe.
Homes behind trees quietly observing passersby.
Evanescent memories drift into now.

I arrived forty years later than fifteen minutes ago.

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