I have been sitting here in my car for an hour or more. Waiting for the fog to lift enough so I can see the road again. This corner of the reservation is quiet, like all corners of the reservation. There are no other cars, no lights, no birds. My toes are cold and I hear only the wind howling its cold winter howl through the rust gaps in my door.
I was thinking about when I am an old man. How I look forward to wearing the sort of dapper old man clothes I can't get away with wearing now, how I'll have to trim the hair on my ears and in my nose. My son will come visit, with his wife and child. I'll make soup and cornbread and we will talk about movies and music and maybe even politics. Maybe not too much about politics...
I am chewing a handful of peanuts as the fog finally lifts and I start the engine. I head into town to get coffee and warm my toes. It is quiet there too but the diner will have music playing and the voices of locals talking about the storm.
|Looking into the future.|