Posted by Jasmine Marie on Monday, January 18, 2010,
[if !mso]
Took her
along the back roads to the big, train station, a wayward place below the
foothills of pine country where the only evidence of her traveling was the
burnt matchstick that burned out under a whittle-made basket with the closing
of the sun.
A faint
shrill of whistling could be heard along with the whispering that the conductor
was going to hand her a browned packag...