Scattered Town

One can hear the electrical wires in the rain near the scattered towns.

Your voice is still under those lines, in one town or another, poking around old man bars.

You wanted to see where the forest ditched the highway, where the grid no longer gripped feral ferns and moss.

We picnicked next to the river, sandwiches and wine. The rain had stopped, left to playing only with leaves.

You were scared of the forest, its sounds. The very thing you thought you protected.

I never told you, the road is hidden on the other side underneath the trees, behind the wild rhododendron.

Traffic is far and few between, a crawl, especially after winter’s scarring of pavement.


I can see you, running for the parking lot, back to the towns, the wires, fear in your eyes.


Sometimes, to be honest, I wish I could be as scared as you.


18 Comments on “Scattered Town

  1. Elan, I think this vignette, this reflection and the photograph, are powerful emanances from this fractured time. My vision is that we’ll learn to blend the built environment into the natural. But first we must rediscover the energy circuits among all these things and all these living beings. Much appreciate your art! Keep it up. You inspire me.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ahhh… “where the grid no longer gripped feral ferns and moss.” Sounds nice. I am manless and dogless these days; I spook myself like a comedy show when I walk a not-so-wild trail now, lol. I used to be braver as an avid camper, except for that one night the wild turkeys started screaming, in which I bolted to the car. My ex and I used to play a game in which we, while sitting around the almost-extinguished fire, would keep our flashlights off for stretches, then turn them back on to see what creatures were next to us. I miss camping and big northern trees.


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