Wires

So I drove home from Vermont, a great American road trip.  Hard to beat a long haul like that–Montpelier to Killington, Rutland to Saratoga, Herkimer to Buffalo to Cleveland, Toledo, Chicago and then Milwaukee.  Eleven hundred miles all the way. And I tell ya, that state of Vermont is hellaciously beautiful.  Green mountains indeed.  Last time I was there in summer was 1972, and I was in no condition to appreciate the place.

Ever notice how the phone wires swoop and dive between the old telephone poles along the roads?  Maybe not so much today’s Interstates, but out in the flatlands along blue highways or older corn desert roads like I 55, the wires swing down low in the prairie grass between the road and the railroad tracks, and then rise up to the pole’s peak, like Gardner’s “fictive curve.”  Rising and falling.  But the curves aren’t resolved.  They just keep going until the wires disappear, multiplexed into microwaves.

And I twist the dial on the satellite radio and am always connected.

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