Small Entry

I'm going bicycling tomorrow. I'm going to pass through a town that I turned around at during my morning drive barefooted and bright-eyed. The town is called Cross, South Carolina. I can't wait. I'm going to be horridly exhausted by time I get back home at four in the afternoon. Every night on the drive home I smell that sweet gentle fragrance that the world breathes into me. So long has that smell been dormant in the earth that it reminds me of the cow pastures of Riceville in the summertime. Oh, that kingly sun with its strong heat. Oh, that sentinel moon with its cool caress. Contact! Contact!