On a bright, chilly day I was blasting down some dirt farm roads on The Big Pig. I was on the west side of the Chatahoochee river headed south. I had no idea what I was going to find, I never do. Way led on to way as it always does and out of the spindly shadows of the wood appeared this scene right off of a postcard. Apparently forgotten by all but the locals it was laden with lover's promises scribed into its flesh. Someday maybe I will return with my lover and add our names. Perhaps I will keep the voice of the brook that flowed underneath all to myself. That would be a shame. Oh how I long for the breezes of autumn to toss the leaves about.
