He remembers the sound of car tires on wet roads as one of the loneliest. The scent of rain, soaked to the skin, hungry and thin, walking the road's edge. There wasn't much color. There wasn't much warmth. There wasn't much that felt good. But there was this trace of a feeling, he thinks now it was something close to holiness - lean, walking far and fast, going without. It was something out of time with the world, but seemed very close to the heart of it.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Salem
He remembers the sound of car tires on wet roads as one of the loneliest. The scent of rain, soaked to the skin, hungry and thin, walking the road's edge. There wasn't much color. There wasn't much warmth. There wasn't much that felt good. But there was this trace of a feeling, he thinks now it was something close to holiness - lean, walking far and fast, going without. It was something out of time with the world, but seemed very close to the heart of it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Visitor Map
No comments:
Post a Comment