Dust

Bulldog

Bulldog

The wind blew. Dust hung in the air and bit at my lungs. I stood beside the truck on a hillside, looking down into a narrow valley. It was still and nothing moved except the wind. Far to the west, a ridge of dark rock spilled over and out of my view. The faces of the stones were split and cracked. Sun. Heat. Eternal elements. A white sun. Palms scraped the sky. Green fronds. The only splotch of color on an empty palette. It was like the artist forgot the other paint in the color scheme. Tan. White. Brown. Little else.

Andy Neal

Andy Neal

Scott Cooper

Scott Cooper

Kevin Burke

Kevin Burke

In the middle distance, I could see a ribbon of concrete cresting a rise. Freeway. Encroaching civilization. The end of peace and quiet. People. Ignorance and all of its problems. I walked a short distance as I spotted a ranch home tucked away in a narrow stand of trees. I glimpsed the white plaster and blue tiles that could only be one thing: pool. It appeared empty. Forlorn. A hole in the ground that awaited happiness. My friends and I could provide such a thing. Happiness comes in all forms. You can buy it in bottles. You can get it in pills. Choose wisely. That happiness is short-lived. The element becomes everything. Your life is dust.  Then you’ll wish for something you can no longer find. “Like the way you cry for a happy ending…” I know. I know. Skate- Ozzie

Ripperside Shawn

Ripperside Shawn

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One thought on “Dust

  1. This text scream…. Like sliding wheels on concrete and i can hear it even here in freezing Québec Canada.

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