Tuesday, November 27, 2007


The light was beautiful this afternoon -- golden, blinding in the rearview mirror as I headed east. I know this stretch of Interstate 40 so well. I know which gas station is the best on every exit. I know where to avoid the fast food fries. I've driven this stretch of highway a million times.

I had just got down the mountain, the one that forms this physical and mental barrier between western North Carolina and the rest of the state that stretches itself out like a cat purring to the sea. Down that mountain and I felt myself leaving.

Outside of Morganton, I followed the curve to the left. I was daydreaming, about what I don't remember. I was listening to the radio when I saw this flock of birds -- hundreds of the them, so many that the sky was darkened -- just as the announcer slid into a twang, a strum, a hum. Country, but not. Alternative, but not as flippant. The birds floated like a bubble over the fields next to the interstate. The dipped and swirled and veered. And I suddenly felt homesick for Kathryn. Kathryn, are you reading this? I wanted to call you so badly right then. I wanted to stop by your house in Greensboro and listen to records and pet Buddy and listen to your stories. Hey, friend! I miss you!

Friday, November 2, 2007


Maybe because it's Friday. Maybe because I'm overly tired. Maybe because it's really, really funny.