Posted by: highmountainmuse | November 13, 2009

And we sleep to dreams of snow

icicles on the porch

Icicles on the porch.

We drive home in the dark.

The outskirts of town fade quickly; the oncoming flow of blinding white lights was short lived and is gone. We leave the high beams on, ready at each turn to flick them lower if need be. Few vehicles come, and none follow us further up the mountain.  Now we pass but the occasional home, most closed for the season, an invisible part of the dark landscape surrounding us.  Those with lights have the tell tale blue glow of a TV screen.  I know there people in there, sitting and watching some story from far away, perched before their modern evening altar…

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