As you wind through deep, country roads, the tires underneath twist and turn with no reservations. Soon your mind is lost in the midst of your memories; pictures pleading with your heart to remember what he said, how the air smelt, the warmth of the breeze wrapping around you. Up and down the hills you go as you slip deeper and deeper into the remnants of what feels like a lost dream. Somewhere in the distance are soft songs being streamed from your stereo and all at once its as if you are a an inception star.
The town is passed with a blink of an eye, as are many small towns within the area. Pause to pee and you will discover something hidden behind the doors of this village. The main gift shop settled at the end of town harbors antiques, trinkets and surprises for all ages. Even the bathroom is home to several surprises; attraction to mothers if I may say so myself. We could talk about the river that runs the ridge of River Mill restaurant, always home to a cold brew, or the Trail Break pizza that fogs the air with smells straight from Italy. All would take far to long and too many words to describe the stomach-filling sensation both places will cause.
And despite the limited population Lavalle may hold, this town harbors love of a ship size. I find no better place to claim our weekend hide-aways than this home away from home. There are many a drive-home in which I yearn for my treading tires to be trekking the hills of Lavalle.
Sure, you clean them, you polish them and, for the undergrad in all of us, you wipe them off on your jeans in order to use immediately again. They are the spoons’ sisters, the knives’ daughters and can be altered into a handy place card holder. Fast forward.
There is a spot in time for which the universe has saved for the lost in all of us. This spot, or spots we shall say seeing as many will come our way, are the cliche term of “moments of truth.” Now put two and two together. Equals? The ever known “fork in the road.”
Amongst your travels, all I ask this evening is that you are aware there will come these days of spotty silverware. Soon enough, the black top melts away from the tread of your tires and the earth splits before you. Dust and gravel one way, cracked concrete calling your car the other. You choose which way to go; you choose which spot on your silverware to run with and which one to rub away.
I’ve found yet another spot on my silverware that even Dawn can not erase. I just wish I knew whether to live with the dirty or grab a clean plate.
"[So I might as well stay here, wait, and look at the hill.] It’s so beautiful."