Cinnamon Skin
“I drove, following the directions given me at the motel desk when we checked out.We headed out of the valley, up Deerfield Hill, past television towers, on a two-lane road so steep in places that the little dark-red car had a problem handling both the grade and the air conditioning, lugging down until it shifted itself into a lower gear. After the suburban houses came the small rundown farms, barns dark-gray and sagging, a few horses grazing. The farms were on a plateau where the road led strai...ght into the distance, toward the misted foothills of the Adirondacks.There was less traffic headed north than I expected. No doubt the vacation-bound had left the city on Friday. It was a little cooler on the plateau. We had merged with Route S, and I wanted to get to the post office in Poland-as the man at the desk suggested-to find out how I might find Mrs. Fox.We came down off the plateau to run along a creek valley into Poland, a small commuter town with such large maples bordering the main street that they gave an illusion of coolness on this summer Saturday.MoreLess
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