Holding the line

I remember walking down a long gravel road with shallow ditches on either side and tall, old trees. Wind, my footsteps, my breath and the road stretched out – fields lush with green corn still supple and young, the stalks and leaves offering enough resistance to keep my mind soft and planted, brushing face and arms and legs with every step.

I long to walk away and out, without anyone looking.

Walk out into a morning and let it flow against me like gauze.

Out and and away down a long, quiet road.

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