Heading south, July afternoon, on the way to Allentown for the night, remembered now because now I'm not free to punch in the music or novel on tape and set my sights for the west and south. Remembering the white line, the trucks, the hills, the signs for NYC, and you are relieved to be heading west, away from the City, away from the parkways and turnpikes and bridges that jam and hold up cars in miles long lines. You're on the way down to Pennsylvania and on to Virgina, following the great valley between the Blue Ridge and the Cumberlands, down past Winchester and Newmarket, then Harrisonburg, and Staunton, and down to where the valley and down to the southern Blue Ride, where the valley narrows and the highway sweeps past Roanoke and Salem, past Fairfield where we broke down one New Year's Eve and the three children and I were towed three hours to Kingport, Kate and Zack riding high in the station wagon up on the Jerri-dan, Caleb and I in the cab with the tow truck driver, on down to Wytheville and Marion and Abingdon and into Tennessee, then south over the mountains to Asheville.
Hah -- you thought I was going to say something pithy and philosophical, to accompany the cloud pic? Nah, just telling you about the picture.
That evening, in Allentown, two boys explored the backyard pond.
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