Summit

At the intersection of two roads in the woods I spent the day making love with a woman. As I got on my motorcycle to leave she came out and told me to go straight through the intersection, stay to the right, then continue straight, merge and just keep going.  I drove the road as she said and time seemed to pass like in a movie and I wrote on a board what the road was like with words and drawings.  There was a very straight stretch of the road where the narrative seemed to indicate something important happened to my family in the 1930s.

The road became dirt; narrow with slight hills and shrubs on each side.  It was the only stretch not paved and seemed to mean something and instead of a pencil mark  on the board to indicate the road, I could see the road as if I were on it.  The road rose steeply, higher than any I’d known, and the slope became paved with something other than asphalt.  The summit was very, very high where a lone house sat; a house that had been there forever.  The road plummeted down just as steeply as it had risen.  Nothing was to be seen around in any direction, just the sun which appeared at the same height as the summit.