Runways (memoir pcs.)

As I eat this low-fat raspberry muffin I ponder deceptions. We’re surrounded by the titlt of truths. My coffee cools. I consume my muffin. The train whistle haunts me at 2:30pm. I’m engineered that way, always curious. The conductor, is he content? Can he daydream on the job? Like me, until the iron mine detonates, a daily blast, jolting me back to reality and shaking the stemware in the cupboard.


My parents visited tiny rural airstrips, watched single propeller planes make successful take-offs and landings. Sitting silent with paper cups of coffee, never holding hands. I wonder what it did for them? Did it bring order, predictability, like the 2:30pm train. It was a Sunday thing, like church, sitting in the backseat of the brown jeep by the runway.


About kimnixon

Upper Peninsula Michigan Artist and Writer

Posted on May 31, 2009, in Memory and Memoir and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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