All roads lead to
Fairwater and the one coming in from the north - Highway E - now has both shoulders graveled and packed and smoothed. That was completed yesterday - so I saw on my way home from work. Except for picking up of the beleaguered orange barrels, the job is done.
The sun comes late these mornings. It is not raining, but it is not particularly cheerful - cloudy with patches of scattered sun.
All roads lead to Fairwater; all roads lead out of town in faraway forever directions. For whom is it home they must hang on to; for whom is it just another place to leave? Why are we one or the other?
Wind from the west. The sun shows itself, the cloud cover burns away. Haze in the distance like the memory of a kiss.
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