c town


They valley is all the colours. It’s the blue bouncing off the harbor bay, white caps blowing off the Strait up to the mountain, where they lay over the evergreens. It is forever green; trees that stretch up to meet the mottled grey or the rare azure of the sky. It’s the green of the rattle clang bridge that hums as the traffic rolls over, the yellow of the splinter railing above the perfect fall, the jump into the river full of flecks of light, the tawny in sand beneath my feet and up the hill on the perfect beach for adventure. This place is in the red-yellow swirl of the tent that makes its appearance yearly among the free sprits of all ages that choose to go barefoot to better feel the beat of the fest. Its the red of the lights and stop signs that, on occasion, are considered by the people in their rusted cars. It’s the grey black asphalt of the parking lots of strip malls, the alleys behind the shops of 5th, and the twisty roads sprawling out in all directions.


~ by loosethreadsandwritersblock on September 17, 2009.

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