Blog-azic

I left work after dark and raced to the highway, wove through traffic, sped judiciously past Greensboro, Winston Salem, turned north: Pilot Mountain to the left rising out of the blackness - somehow appearing more black than the sky. Yes, in fact, I noticed the sky was not black but deep purple, like bruised flesh - a trick from the full moon obscured behind clouds. I climbed I-77, rose above the Piedmont, and sped back into the high country before the wild hills of West Virginia appeared - black coal hills, undulating, looking down on me. I had a distinct feeling of something old - perhaps something I felt a long time ago, but since I could not name it, it slipped away. I past the time (except for a quick gas stop near Wytheville) on Mars, tracking its colonization by humans early in this century. This history was laid out in vignettes and was read aloud - the voice emanating from a tablet computer. The Martian Chronicles. I hugged the tablet close to my body (sometimes right up