In small towns there isn’t always enough light to go around. Streetlights mark out the border: a square and measured constellation from the air. The secondary roads that stretch out beyond the town line dissolve into darkness — shadowy boundaries that quickly descend into black.
Crossing from the half-lit sheets into the dark periphery, the eyes are forced to flicker, scanning for any particles of light to guide the next step. Turning to face the town it sits in a soft orange glow, like a quieted carnival after the crowds have departed. Expect to see the pinwheels of ferris wheels and tilt-o-whirls, but only see the blurred blink of traffic lights, signalling the way home for one lonely car.
barbara fletcher 