and away….

The moment’s rain fell in soft drops on the light gray earth, each tiny globe of water making a slightly larger wet crater in the dirt of time that had filtered and sifted from mountain streams and into the great rivers and lake on the western horizon.  Men had brought it in by the truck-full to build the bank on which they sat…on which they sat and deep into the waning light as dragon flies and mud swallows dipped and lunged across the water’s upper edge, seeking a dusking meal against the long night….

Mama’s gonna wonder where I’m at, you know….



Ever since you’ve been grown enough to leave the yard, Mama’s known that you’ve been with me.  You ain’t never been nowhere else.

I know…

Then why are you saying she’s gonna wonder where you’re at?

Cause she’ll still wonder.

Well, she’ll find out when she normally does, then, won’t she?

I guess…

A fish jumped in the darkling water, making ripples spread into the long grass and reeds along the shore, tiny water molecule waves carrying the gray dust that slid and fell from the bank beneath bare feet and sneakers pushing and moving stones and sticks out of the way for legs to stretch into their powdery nests.  The fish caught nothing in his flight and swam further downstream, gliding with the gentle current, fish eyes looking up from the sides of his fish head, looking for something that wasn’t there now that the sun was gone and gone and brightening someone else’s day.

The rain left a smell of wet dust and nothing more as its bedtime clouds thinned and fled in the blacking sky.  Stars appeared in their distance between the cobweb lattice-work of the bridge’s girders and supports and beams and ties and double rails, specks of light glimmering against the earth and her slow and silent spinning, flickers and hope, torches of wonder falling into the tucked-away recesses of ancient time and the enduring heaven of space.



We ain’t goin’ back, are we…?

That’s right, Bobbi…we ain’t goin’ back…I told him that was the last time….

He reached over to tuck a strand of straw-colored hair behind her ear, gently touched a purple-blue bruise on her cheekbone, leaned and kissed her forehead…and lingered a moment to smell her dusty, little-girl hair….

…but we’ll let Mama know we’re ok when we get where we’re going.

Where’s that gonna be?

Ain’t figured that out yet, but I think we’ll know it when we get there….

18 responses

  1. Really enjoyed reading this post Scott. Excellent.

    July 21, 2012 at 8:51 am

    • Thank you, Chillbrook…am very glad you enjoyed it. 🙂

      July 22, 2012 at 10:00 pm

  2. I enjoyed this post, too. Great photo to add to the mood of the essay.

    July 21, 2012 at 10:33 am

    • Thank you, Miss Gunta…I’m glad you liked it, too…tried to have them fit each other…..

      July 22, 2012 at 10:05 pm

  3. Loved it….didn’t want it to end Scott! Are you going to tell us how the story pans out?

    July 21, 2012 at 11:28 am

    • You loved it? That’s wonderful. 🙂

      I don’t know how it ends, Madhu…I haven’t gone there yet….

      July 22, 2012 at 10:08 pm

  4. You leave us wanting more….a location of mystery spawning characters on a journey across the bridge and into a new life. I’m already hooked. You have such an evocative way with words, Scott. More please….. A journey into your imagination.

    July 21, 2012 at 3:53 pm

    • You are wonderful, John…such nice words…so encouraging. I will dig inside and see what else I can find. Thank you….

      July 22, 2012 at 10:10 pm

  5. Great image & words, Scott.

    July 21, 2012 at 6:38 pm

    • Thank you, Victoria. 🙂

      July 22, 2012 at 10:10 pm

  6. You really grabbed me with this, Scott. What a sudden and complete trip into a totally different place and time.

    July 21, 2012 at 7:31 pm

    • I’m glad you liked it, Gary…glad it took you there. 🙂

      July 22, 2012 at 10:12 pm

  7. Do they go back right away or when their money is gone and they’re dead on their feet with nowhere to go?

    July 21, 2012 at 7:54 pm

    • Not if I can help it, Allen…..

      July 22, 2012 at 10:13 pm

      • It took me 2 or 3 times to get it right. Living on the streets is tough.

        July 23, 2012 at 7:29 am

        • I’ve only had glimpses of it, Allen, some of them very intimate…but I’ll trust that you’re right.

          July 23, 2012 at 8:17 am

  8. A wonderful story, Scott.

    July 24, 2012 at 1:31 pm

    • Thank you, George…I’m glad you enjoyed it. 🙂

      July 25, 2012 at 7:14 am

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