The Sign With No Name

On 55, a few miles east of Seneca Rocks, just past the Native American Relic Museum & Restaurant, is the sign with no name, plain, a beat tin oval hovering between two poles, red and rusting. 

Someday, when the way of my life loses its wind and the shadow of the mountain is all I climb, you will see me standing here beside the road, my legs spread wide, my arms outstretched, wrapped around the blankness, advertising nothing.

Journal entry – 11/22/98

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