ol' Rambo and I scurried down the inland highway.
wind chasing the trees, limbs swirling in behind us, lost in our exhaust.
and us, we are chasing fairies.
ferries.
there are clouds drying in a box in the back ...
a delivery run.
and a home for the celebration of the saviour.
Christ god, we give him a face.
the son sets.
I wait.