Pebble Number Thirteen: Heading Home

January 13, 2014

The wheels run cajunk, cajunk, cajunk across the salt worn highway where potholes eat into the once smooth surface. The sound is hypnotic, like a forlorn tune stuck on repeat.  I look to the left. Ice builds waves in the river, chunks connecting like puzzle pieces that buckle under the weight of being together.  To the right, waterfalls of ice spill down to the ground where they disappear on contact. I am caught between two worlds of ice, speeding towards a home that is no longer familiar, only to say goodbye to all I’ve every known.

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