shiny things in messy little piles


When I left, it was winter.

I had arrived on a clear cold August night. Stop­ping on the butte over­look­ing the canyon, I won­dered if there was any rea­son not to sim­ply con­tin­ue rid­ing north.

To be continued…

First line cour­tesy of The Ora­cle. But yours won’t be the same.


1 Comment

  1. MiG

    The rea­son pre­sent­ed itself in the impar­tial blink­ing of the fuel light. By the time I rode into town, the engine had died and I coast­ed silent­ly into the gas sta­tion to the bemused stares of a few bystanders.