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.