She handles through turns like a dancer with the spirit of a sports car and the mileage of a miser. Her flanks show dings from parking lot encounters, and her roof is a quilt of dents from hail and scratches from hauling a canoe. She suffered the indignity of a salvage title. And her Pontiac brand has been put to …
Erifnus waited patiently beside old hotels and farmhouses, chapels and prisons, diners and greasy spoons, graveyards, museums, creeks and canyons and unsavory encounters. She always escaped with a story. She won an Emmy. I just went along for the ride.
The Great Impressionist has turned expansive soybean fields to green and gold palettes worthy of Monet or Van Gogh, framed by hardwoods who slowly dress for autumn.
As thousands crowd the escape routes to evacuate ahead of Hurricane Irma, I hope this old relic can still fly, and takes a planeload of people and pets from Marathon Key to safety.
This old bridge goes forth for miles and backward to 1909. Bet it has seen some winds. The new bridge is a more comfortable, less romantic way to be tossed into oblivion by storms. Marathon Key.