Traffic stops atop a bridge of unseen trusses. The jersey barriers give scarcely a hint of the surrounding hills, like the peak approach climb of a rollercoaster would with only sky as its backdrop.
I am stopped with it, halfway across. No escaping. This concrete structure was designed for cars, and I am one, seated forward as part of this two-row movie theater with nothing playing.
Two spastic finches whip themselves over and through and over the structure with unbelievable agility. They seemed to be preparing something to cradle us, as if they were the only two who knew our impending collective fate.
The weather is perfectly Autumn. What few clouds exist, to accessorize the pure cyan sky, are seated far too high up to appreciate the brittle air that passes across my bearded face at the pace and direction of those frantic birds.
I listen to public radio; my daily routine of exchanging worries with the world's. I don't have a girl, but North Korea surely has The Bomb. It's goddamned pledge month, but before the truncated news segments have a chance to be interrupted by self-deprivating spats from their DJs, I nimbly switch to music worthy of premature deafness and dream of open road and open sky.
For these wheels to move, sixty sets need to spin in succession - a metal millipede and its symbol for freedom, waning.
2 comments:
This is great. I like how in a lot of your pieces you combine urban-living with the outdoors, though the cities would have us separate them.
i like this post.
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