this morning on the way to boutte, the sun bright and yesterday’s clouds scattered and forced to the fringes of the sky, we followed a caravan of trucks hauling cages of would-be-garbage if…

“there goes someone’s house.”

lee danced with the truth on that one. each truck was an assortment of carpet and foundation debris, mattresses and flying papers. truck after truck for a mile. wind wipping their contents into a frenzy and sometimes blowing them free onto the street.

a mile headed to the smoldering trash heap behind a fringe of surviving trees. a mile of sorrow that – even in its magnitude – is only this morning’s sorrow.

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