Out the window, morning. There were thunderstorms last night and now the sky is gray and dense, monochrome against the rolling ridges of tree. I imagine it will be another thick day. Someone must have turned the air conditioner down because the pug is stretched out in the center of the bed instead of pressed up against me as usual. I can actually stretch out a little instead of being pinned at the edge of the bed by 25 pounds of dog. Pinned by pug.
I’ll miss this house. I’m here to help a family member move out. I’ve been coming here for 18 years, to this big house on a hill overlooking the little old town of Elkhorn. The town is adjacent to the original trans-American highway, a bumpy brick deal of which about a mile is still intact. It runs along the train tracks and the sound of the train is a frequent gorgeous and wistful reminder of long-lost days. There are wooden buildings along the tracks that I love, whitewashed, leaning, and oddly shaped from when there were horses, not cars. Continue reading “Notes from Elkhorn, Nebraska”