January 6th, 2011

Cars, Planes, Trains, and Barges

My parent's house was on a small street named after my mother's family. This area was once their small farm. At night, there weren't any sounds other than the night bugs. On some nights though, I would stay at my grandmother's house on Marietta Street/State Route 9. I remember being in bed there and after reading a few stories from her book of fairy tales, I would listen to the late-night cars as they passed by her house. It had me forever imagining in a lonely but peaceful way about these people -- where they were going and what kind of lives they led.

There are so many threads that connect us, continuously and continually. Some are as delicate as a spider's silk and some are rough and tough like the massive ropes that lash together big barges of coal on the Ohio.

(no subject)

The coincidence of years travels to places
where life unravels into a greater valley
then gently becomes a pastoral beginning