441

I thought just now
Of how fresh asphalt
Lies thick and solid and hot
On repaved Georgia roads
In summer, and how
I walked so often along 441
As a boy, past the cabinet shop
And the mill and into town,
Headed for Turpin’s and
Cherry cokes and comic books —
Carrying only my innocence.

Sound Reveille

Nearing half seven in the East, coffee brewed and a mug at my side, the birds quiet and the rain gone, the faux ticking of the wall clock and the random sighs and hums of the fridge the only sounds, and another Thursday to navigate. Sound reveille.

Sound Reveille

On the way to 8 in the East, the heavens still restless after a night of constant, heavy rain, with more to come, as I sit calm at my treehouse table, a bit more coffee still in the carafe, my little fridge and freezer defrosted and cleaned and awaiting Instacart. Sound reveille.