rollercoasters

it’s one place i find clarity, the open road, the quiet cabin, the changing scenery. the wheels beneath my feet have a way of turning the tapes inside my head, rewinding and replaying the memories of forgotten days of who we used to be, of who they used to be—of who you used to be. the permanent record, what a wondrous cure to our palimpsest. like this picture of a georgia afternoon i forget ever happened, taken february of '93, before the "storm of the century," when we got into the habit, and the trouble, of turning sidewalks into rollercoasters

—jk montane