PROSE #2,315

It's like the old car game from childhood. Staring out the window at the rushing landscapes and following, with your eyes, the flowing rhythm of the power lines that are animated with the passing automobile. It all becomes a surreal experience and time down-steps. Hours pass by within minutes. Years become seconds, and the next thing you know you've become too old and serious for your own good. You look up and the lines are still there. Crowding your sky and keeping you grounded. They remind you that there is always someplace to go. They lead you in the direction of away and over the horizon. Lines across your limited sky. Hard work and horizontal thinking come first and then, maybe someday, the lines will fade. Maybe someday won't feel like the next step in a long journey. Someday, the lines will end. Or maybe they'll just lead you in circles.