On the freeway in an Italian sports car. We are going fast. And the scenery is a brush stroke of blue and green. Your hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white. This country is bleeding all around us and we are a funnel pushing aside the edges. Heading straight for the source of the wound. I keep my hands securely on the map, lines and symbols arrayed like a glowing arrow. My eyes water at the ancient beauty I can’t penetrate. Here we are in the descent of a boundless sunset, drowning in our ignorance and all we can do is go straight.
Advertisement
Filed under: Uncategorized
