Light Writing

In Texas, heading West toward Amarillo looking North. 35°14′2″N 100°36′0″W



On the I-40 soft shoulder looking north over the vast ranch lands of the Texas Panhandle.

In the distance he could see where curtains of rain were falling over the flat and empty country like the thin tendrils of wet oil streaks on an immense canvas. Soon enough he too was within the storm and the heavy drops pounded the hood of the car with a dull senseless rhythm that came and vanished and came again all throughout the long and mundane hours of that day. To the south he passed the constant balding hills where the wind combed what slight grass was left over the red clay and stones of the soft damp earth. Further yet there stood lines of windmills which churned soundlessly and methodically like some kind of alien scout or centurion set to stand guard and ward off some unfathomable thing that had not yet been culled into being.