Green Alleys
There's something a little unnerving about highway travel in Georgia and other eastern US states. It's not the heavier traffic or the way folks drive. In the former, I've seen just as nasty in Los Angeles. As for the latter, they only differ in the minor respect of rules: Georgia drivers generally seem to follow them, while back home in Albuquerque the drivers tend to put more stock in a vigorous "Hail Mary" and creative vehicular improvisation. No, the thing that unerves me about these Eastern highways are the trees lining the way. Miles and miles of towering, leafy arborage just dripping with kudzo or their own foliage. It's a great view for botanists, I supose, but hard on geologically-inclined eyes. You can't see a darned bit of countryside beyond those trees. There's no way to get a feel for the landscape. Nothing to see but long verdant alleys. Even my 10-month-old son Walker at first looked out from his car seat on the endless vegetable parade with what appeared to be some puzzlement. Maybe he was wondering "Hey, who switched the color of my world?" But that was yesterday, when we first arrived in Georgia. Today he's totally adjusted to it. It's all normal to him. To my much older arid land eyes, on the other hand, it'll always look a little freaky.


















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