a logscribble by hvincent

We see the backs of houses, mostly. Barbed wire fences to keep people from walking onto the rails and getting splattered. Frozen streams and ponds, bare trees. Once in a while, there's a crumpled wooden shed, a rotting Airstream, a discarded blue kiddie pool.

We come up on towns through lines of concrete retaining walls covered in graffiti, mostly for our benefit. A sign sticks up above the back of the line of warehouses---'REDEMPTION CENTER', it claims. Redemption from what?

Back into the tree. Back to the little ponds with paddle boats trapped in the ice. Back to the line of boulders along a ridge that we can't see over. The sun is at the level of my window, and it flashes through stands of bare birch trunks. Sometimes, this gives me a headache; not today.