When the Road Runs Out

Yesterday I made a couple of cool new friends, and had my first pseudo date since things fell through with the girl I thought I was going to marry. Ended up in a horribly seedy townie bar and pool hall as it started to sleet in earnest about 11:30 last night. I am really fond of winter weather, so I couldn’t pass up a chance to get some pictures of when Kansas freezes over. I went out and took pictures 4 years ago in the same place (I actually called off work on Valentines day because I didn’t feel like dealing with anything that year, took pictures of the frozen lake) and I was disappointed that the old runes that had been in places around the dam were gone. I ended up replacing one of them. The sky brooded all day, oppressive and dark. I pulled off the road at an unfinished bridge and took some pictures before going further north. To the lake and some unexpected complications.

I had taken her to this place down at the lake, and I remember kissing her on top of Soldier’s Hill, the mound out at the end of the promontory. Rushing back to me was that feeling of loving her, of warmth, and I tried to tell myself that the wind starting to howl off the ice was a coincidence. That the lake didn’t remember me and was now mocking me because I had come back to the tidal shallows alone. I remembered the boy on the floor whose world fell apart and ended when she closed the door and left. But they were just specters. Ghosts. I felt like I’d be leaving more alone then I came, and better for it.

I put the camera back in my bag and strapped it to my back, to start the long trek back up the dam, but I left the rest of the baggage there to be picked at by the wind and the lonely birds left on the shore.


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