Before Wartburg

7-22-05
4:32 p.m.

Riding in the car with Alexa’s mum and dad, Mia and Dave. Scenery speeds by like it’s got to get somewhere: power lines, fences, water towers, flora. We’re on our way to the concert put on by Wartburg College’s summer jazz band. Alexa plays saxomophone. Dan-ness is at Wartburg as well.
They caught two of the terrorists involved in the 7-7-05 subway and bus bombings. I haven’t heard from London Dan since these aforementioned bombings, and there were more the other day. I think I’ve heard from all my other British friends, though.
Some people have described roads as laying out before them like ribbons. I think that, while a nice simile, this is silly. Roads are more like tour guides; some slow, some fast, some loud, some quiet, always taking you somewhere or showing you something. The baseball field on your left, that’s the finest field this side of the Volga River, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is Our Church of the Virgin Mary.
Skies are crazy. People say the sky is blue, but I know different. I have seen red skies, purple skies, grey skies like goose feathers and skies of fiery orange. No wonder people used to believe in magic. The wonder is that we stopped believing.
Maybe that’s why people do “bad” things. They’ve stopped believing in magic because they can’t see the sky. It makes me worry about the world. What will become of those born in the generations that will never see the sky?