bumper to bumper cars inch along this one main road through town. it’s a town for the young, skin tight, bellies out, low slung skirts rustling up gutter dust a half-mile from open sunflower fields and piles of old corn that’s still sweet. i can’t wait to be settled in, spices in racks, pc table glued together, toes curling into soft rug in blues and greens, the cat napping in a spot of sun.
this place was not ready for us and we were not ready for this place.
what’s your hurry says Momma Mountain. patience first. passion later. you know how slowly mountains move.
bumper to bumper cars crawl along the main street. the young bellies move lazily along the sidewalks, lean on stoop rails, laugh slow secrets. no hurry. everything can wait.
except time.