Where It Ends

The edge of town arrives quickly, one last suburban tract, one last inflatable swimming pool then over the only hill around here, after which an oatmeal wash of savanna surfs over the blacktop. There are many left turns ahead, but when you discover a beat-up clapperboard hanging over cotton brush you’ll know you have attained warp speed. Turn sharply down a hollow crick road where pent-up pockets of sunlight bud in the thickets, keep on until you see ahead the land leaking into the sky. No matter how many times you take this drive you‘ll feel that you have only just now escaped a story that will always end right here.