My Bianchi

It was like breaking up with a boyfriend. The wrong man. It was for the both of us. How it pains me to end the functioning relationship we had. Yes, it was hard to let you go, my dear Huffy, as you've gotten me through so much. In all your rust and dirt, you've saved my ass on many occasion. And you just kept on truckin'.

How I've come to wonder, was I forcing you? I hate to retire you in the storage unit, as I know that's not what you want, and yes, it breaks my heart too. I know all you want is to be the one. To suit my needs. Oh, it was tough love. But you were putting our lives in danger.

The Bianchi treats me right; he's more fit, and he gets me to where I need to go - faster, easier, safer, and farther... than you ever could. I wish I could fix you. I wish I could work you out. Smooth out your edges, but you'll never change. Wait around; we'll be together for a long time. But you won't have to watch the love affair. Ignorance is bliss.

Oh Bianchi... let's fly over mountains together.
Mmm, my Italian stallion...

Mountain Laurel Summer

It was a June of Mountain Laurel; white bushes sprouted everywhere. Camouflaged as ghosts, waiting with their deer and fairies, to spook the crescendoing dust. Amherst hill towns, Shutesbury dirt hill roads - Market Hill, Sand Hill, Baker, and Schoolhouse. Hippie-ville.

The July Mountain Laurel brown, crusted over, dead. Juniper Hill Farm died with it.