straddling the coastlinesa pinball ricochet, or that three hours makes one hell of a difference for the midnight phone-callers among us.
The mountains are made of different books back in the ankles of the Appalachian hills. Here they are just a dusty rock-promise in the fog, surrounding this flat motherboard of a valley built on plastic and impulse. A binary game. Two coastlines, full of fresh fruit. Persimmons and the crows come cawing down.
The joke is on us: we keep planting vast holidays of table and seed, but ain't quite enough water, out here, to water even the smallest of apple trees.