Thursday, March 09, 2006


Taller than most trees in central Texas, they tended to dominate parts of the landscape. Including the line behind my house growing up: there, on her windmill-topped yard, my neighbor kept chickens.

They weren't *real* windmills, I thought. Real windmills were elsewhere.

I didn't think Texas was real. I wanted to be elsewhere. Always elsewhere.

But elsewhere is just where you couldn't get with a windmill. The blades spin, but they don't propel.

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