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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 1, March 2014

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Lynn Wohlwend
Superior, Wisconsin, USA


A View of Sky

When I finally reach New Mexico's eastern border, I've been driving for two days. There are no towns, only plants along the highway. I have no name for them beyond desert brush. I hit seek on the radio, and the dial searches through the bands.

A swath of dark blue on the horizon . . . As I drive, the blue bruises to black. Bright desert sands deepen to dusk. The wall of clouds drops closer.

When the rain hits, I brake and clench the wheel. Heavy drops hammer the hood like nails. The car in front of me disappears. I brake harder, grateful the white truck is no longer tailgating, and struggle to find my hazard lights.

a view of sky
upon sky
falling

The rain passes so suddenly I look behind me to see if it was real. The windshield wipers squeak, and I fumble with the knob. Breathe. As the salted scent of rain flows through the vents, I remember the return trip home.

road stop
an abandoned car
in the dirt

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end

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