Sunday, February 21, 2021


There needs to be a fairy tale about it for the future children of Ohio. I only went to his house once. It was a long drive—you could easily fall asleep—past the farms shut down for winter. Snow grew in the fields. Route 13 turned into smaller roads and the car kept turning until it went into woods. Just when you had no idea where you were, that’s where his house was. It was raining when we got out of the car. The sound came down through the trees.

No comments:

Post a Comment