Night Driving Early Illinois autumn - the cicadas have quieted, left the corn. An early morning rush of independence has my windows rolled down, and only I exist. In this space between today and the tentative tomorrow, aphids bless my fingertips, and a familiar field, crushed beneath an impossible fog, dares me to plunge - left or right? All direction is nonsense, captured by the year's strangling harvests. All this open space is making girls my age run, crazy, "suffocating" to cities. To husbands. To anywhere but here. And tonight, for the first time this year, I'm breathing.
Kelly Donohue's Questions:
1. Is the image clear?
2. Is the end narrative out-of-place?
3. What would you recommend to polish?