“Don’t worry, love”
Was her reply
“I’ll stay with you
This long dark night
“When comes the morn’
You’ll see sun rise
As you look
Into my eyes
Love puts the ground under my feet
The skip in my step
The stars in my sky
The hope in my heart
While I sit
High upon the hilltop
Feeling the breeze
Wash over me
Is not proportioned
By the difficulty of obtaining it
But is informed
By the quality of attention I offer it
When the unimaginable
Becomes reasonable
Imagination soars
But for lack
Of soil and sod
What food
Could riches grow?
Stale cigarettes
And mildew
Saggy mattress
Flickering lights
John Steinbeck devoted a full chapter of his epic roadtrip, The Grapes of Wrath, to Route 66. Five words of that chapter — three words, really — captured everyone’s imagination. Three words.
“66 is the mother road,” wrote Steinbeck. Poetry. Evocation.
Pix to Words 