The road, paved so deep with bits of gravel and stone, dancing on the ways of memory, stacked, laid blue and black with the heat of time, and summers, and rolling traffic, trucks with loads in the thousands of pounds, the nice car, with the mothers and fathers children , one reading a book, one playing with a yo-yo on a short string and their sister, curled and enjoying herself wrapped in her plaid coat and sleeping against her door, feeling the sounds of the road as they are rolling.
The trees were growing bright again, when winter had snapped away, no beach nor mountain on either side, but warmth had begun, and green the color of royalty. Wrapped in dark clouds, to stroke the flair of a day, between seasons.
Ralph Peck
Photograph by Marla Bolton
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