What I Won’t Write About

I won’t write about the artist in Orland who painted on his garage door a life-size airplane coming at you.

Neither will I write about the cypress tree growing out of a house just down the street.

Or about streets wide enough that cars park in the middle.

Not a word will I write about the deciduous tree that grows out of a silo of a dairy along Hiway 32.

Or how River Road takes off from Hiway 32, only to meet the tee  intersection of River Road and River Road.

Hiway 32 eventually takes us to Chico, on the outskirts of which the roof of a gas station comprises a private plane standing on its head.

Nope.  Not a paragraph will I write about these.  Not a sentence.  Not a word.


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