Abscond

Eyes on the road: asphalt races under me at ninety miles an hour. Empty lanes on either side rise and fall with the rolling hills. Beyond the mountains the indigo sky lightens; a yellow haze barely emanating announces the morning. Cool night air whistles past, and the wind buffets the truck as we go through the pass. Desert expands in either direction. The openness and the emptiness embolden me. I press the gas pedal a little harder.

No. 133

Balance

Starling tiptoes across a telephone wire—squirrel rests along a metal fence—owl hoots into the night as the Santa Ana winds roll through the canyon, ruffling the leaves on the pines—housecat races across the road, dodging an oncoming car, slinking through the break in a wooden fence—sedans run stop signs in the night—skunks peer wearily from the drain that runs to the ocean, no dumping sign painted on the asphalt beside it—trash cans with duct-taped damage overflow into the road—everywhere I looked I saw reminders of a tightrope knife’s edge between two things and found myself, somehow, in a doorway—

No. 018