Saturday, September 3, 2011

Drive Home

The Appalachian mountains stand dark and green against the late-afternoon sky.  The Allegheny River is as flat and shiny as glass, white where the sun hits it, and deep and blue where it doesn't.  An old cast iron bridge spans the river, surrounded by clusters of white sailboats.  As I enter the city, I pass under another bridge, old and stone with plants spouting from the top, spilling over the sides.  It must have been an old railroad bridge.  If this was Europe, an untrained eye might mistake it for a Roman aqueduct.

My Publications

Fiction "The Blue of the Sky, the White of the Waves," Everyday Fiction : February 2018 ( read online ) "Alone in this Fai...