about a sunrise in July

The sunrise set alight the purring strip of river reaching across to me from the far banks. I felt as though I had for the first time in years the patient attention of some beautiful stranger. But the orange was, I knew, mistaken about me and very soon to pass, and the next week would resume in the bright blur of faces on sidewalks and the dark reluctance of the few fading hours of breathing room inside at night.

something about placelessness

Bending off the highway is an unremarkable, two-lane road that aims toward the river. Going that way you pass a guileless elementary school; a fire station; a frayed church; a pasture (often harboring horses); and another church (this one sturdy and featureless). Then you drive amid woods, turns, and threats of deer crossing. Driveways that draw up to the road fall between these filmy landmarks, and my attention flits down to the houses as I speed this way. House after house withholds the greeting I wish would welcome me, and a low-scoring shame fills the void of no warm memories.