Northport, Alabama

By this afternoon, I will be halfway to Mobile, the miles slipping away as I head home to see my family. I have traversed the winding, 200-mile stretch of Highway 43 so many times that I sense it more than see it, feel it settle in my bones as surely as the Alabama dust that coats the road. I know every curve, every landmark, every house, every tree. I know every tiny town, every backwoods gas station, every pothole, every hill.

Nothing ever changes.

If it weren’t 3 a.m., perhaps I could coax my disjointed syntax into something more than splintered shards, but it’s too late and I am too tired to think clearly.

I don’t know how much I will post while I am gone; I don’t know how quickly I will respond to email; I don’t know when I will return. I will have my BlackBerry, my PowerBook, my camera and my iPod. I don’t know if I will use any of them.

I make no promises other than that I will try. I will try like I always try, and if I fail I will stand up and try again. It’s the best I can offer, and it has to be enough.

Music: A Murder of One by Counting Crows (lyrics); Luka by Suzanne Vega (lyrics)

Posted on June 17, 2005 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, black and white, Northport, writing