(This is a fictional short story I wrote in 2001. The photo is from Kathryn Rouse. Thanks.)
We'd been driving for hours. The unending trees of upper Michigan were a dark corridor around us, the sky above was unpolished silver. I was weary and my neck ached.
"Mom?"
I glanced at my son, just waking from a monotony-induced nap.
My first Joyce Andrews story is Outside on a Very Cold Night.
I wrote this in 2016 and shared it with some friends. I know it's not Christmas Eve yet, but it is the beginning of the season where most of us will wonder what lies beneath and behind the things we do. This is my salute to people who pay attention.
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