Wednesday, December 5, 2012


Tonight's cravat is a faded and muted violet crossed by narrow charcoal diagonals, widely spaced.  He had decided to rent a car and drive the rest of the way to Cleveland, eschewing the crowded airports and noise-filled planes.  As he drove through the farmland, he was charmed by the horses and buggies, the tall silos, and the many local roadside stands along his route.  He stopped at one ostentatiously lettered sign offering pies, jams, jellies, pickles, eggs, and fresh produce.  The girl behind the bonnet barely spoke as she totaled up his purchases.  Her grey dress was somber, but she could not have been more than fifteen.  "Did you say this pie was, what now? Elderberry?" he asked.  She nodded, and she handed him his change with berry-stained fingers.