ABSTRACT
I have traveled north again, to these gray skies and empty doorways. Fall, and I recognize the rusted leaves descending near the silence of your home. You, a part of this strange American landscape with its cold dry winds, the honks of geese and the hardwood floors. It's more familiar now than the fluorescent rainbow on the overpass, or the clatter of politicos in the corners, or the palm fronds falling by the highway. I must travel again, soon.
