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Travel Notes

September 28, 2012 Comments off

by Guy Gauthier

Lights. Voices across the lake.

* * *

Cold morning rain. Wet firewood.

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On the wall of the men’s room. Speckled gold. A moth of shocking beauty. Asleep.

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It’s raining on a tennis court in Tennessee. Raining on a deserted pool.

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Couldn’t eat my toast. I’ll never mix wine and vodka again. Vines choking a tree. The smell of cows on a truck. 93 miles to Nashville. Eroded soil, the color of rust. Carthage, 4 mi. Merge.

* * *

Nashville. Ham sandwich. Glass of milk.

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Hitchhiker. No luggage. Can we trust him?

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Today we drove from Memphis to New Orleans. My mind is red, burnt and peeling. It hangs down lazily like the trees in the Bayou.

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The Gulf of Mexico. The water was warm. Muddy. Salty. Thought I saw a shark.

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Night surf. Fires on the beach.

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Hard to steer in that wind. Can’t see, though the wipers are beating fast. Cars parked on the side of the road, waiting for the rain to let up. Others moving slowly with their lights on.

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Blood and fur on the highway. A black cat.

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Crossing the path of a brushfire. Raindrops hiss on smoking trees. The grass crumbles to ashes and dust under my feet.

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Cracks in the sidewalk. Black ants eating something with wings.

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The flicker of a candle. A man and a woman. Centuries ago. We’re leaving New Orleans tonight. Drinking black coffee for night driving. The red flicker of a candle. Centuries ago.

* * *

Following her down the Otter Creek trail. Sitting with her by the Otter Creek falls.

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Hot sun behind us. A haze of rain ahead. The cool wind that comes before rain.

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We drove all day to see a lake. A firefly in Kentucky.

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Standing in the spray over Cumberland Falls.

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Tennessee afternoon. Peaches in the shade.

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Sunday morning. Headlights in the rain.

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Lying wet and cold on a beach towel. Sand on my feet. Salt on my lips.

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Chesapeake Bay. The salty taste of her skin.

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A sunset that began in Maryland is ending with a red glow in the Pennsylvania hills.

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Grey skies. Umbrellas in the wind.

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Seaweed. A white sail on the North Shore.

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Dim shadows on the road. Thin, transparent clouds over the sun.

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Driving into the night. Headlights in my eyes.

 

Guy Gauthier was born in Winnipeg, Canada. He started writing a journal in 1971, shortly after moving to New York, where he still lives today. His plays have been performed in New York, Canada, and overseas. Water & Earth, a journal was published by Impassio Press, Seattle, 2002, and “Journal Fragments” appeared in In Pieces: an anthology of fragmentary writing, Impassio Press, Seattle, 2006.

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