Saturday, April 3, 2010

Life in the Big City

Three postcards I recently sent:



A dear friend of mine when I was growing, sort of a second father to me, told me never to move to a big city.

"There's no lonelier place than in a crowd," he said to me.

This was a man who took vacation in the early spring and spent it at his cabin in the woods, hoping to hear the ice crack as it broke and melted on the lake. Have you heard that sound?

I still hear the sound in my ears, if I imagine myself in the places were I heard it, an eery sound that surrounds the area around the lake and echos beyond.

Sometimes when the cold crowd gets to me, when the city drowns me, I think of the ice cracking across the lake and an old man writing down the date in his weather log. "The ice went out early this year," he would write as a note to himself to read next year.

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