Iron Skies
There’s something empty about midday. The wee hours, always mysterious in a way, grow familiar with long hours and insomnia and matches with the imaginary dragons of 3 am.
The streets in early afternoon is the new forbidden hour. Shouldn’t we be busy?
Idle between shows, I rattled like one of the bronzed leaves down the sidewalk at the hushed time. February held Roanoke in an iron grasp, the sky matching the stone buildings, and the buildings matching the salted windows of the cars drifting past.
Snow tomorrow. Prepare.
Still, I liked it. Something blew across the empty tracks at the empty station, and I almost caught it:
Go see. The idea, or ghost of an idea, escaped my stiff fingers, and blew on, mixing with the trash by the self-serve parking, suddenly all beautiful and worthy of a thousand love letters, and then, back to normal.
I ducked into the bookstore to talk with a friend, and bought a magazine. Then I went back out onto the street of metal skies and granite buildings, alive. Something was there, but I can’t explain it.
The rail yard seemed quite, but again, the idea lurked along the trains cued west. It bounced off my windshield, and kept going.
The mountains in the blue distance echoed it, but try as I might, it remained elusive, a wrestling with a greased watermelon, strange to think of on such a winter’s day.
Head west? But why?
The idea jumps out at unexpected times, but usually when the wind is up. A call, a desire to follow the tumbling leaves ‘round the bend in the road, or to race with the hawk as he follows the ridgeline and cloud shadows into obscurity.
Maybe I could bend my mind into rationalizing a travel novel, the next Blue Highways or such high literary excuses to wander.
Still, I think I should like to wander for its own sake. What do you think?
The road turned away from the tracks, and I went to the same store, and bought the same snack, blessing it.
It feels good to be home today. The snow is falling like parmesan cheese. “Looks like an Andy Wyeth painting” I told mom. She laughed. Andy?
I realized I’ve mastered my first southern put-down. Bless my heart. No, wait a minute, that’s not right.
But that snow will melt, and the trains will cue up, and the idea will jump out to go see more iron skies and granite streets. We’ll see what happens.
I’m listening.
–Josh
