A writing excerpt of Queensbury Rode.

There is a point at which the hill is its steepest. A point when your face gets red and your breath gets short and you really have to force your legs to peddle up up up even when your muscles are screaming. There is an old man’s house and it’s such a place I rarely stopped or thought about. He had a perfectly manicured yard and no trees. He had flowers and bushes. He was a retired old black man and nothing more to me.

Until one day I was riding my bike and I stopped at this place within the steep of the hill. It is a strange land where the trees grow out sideways, and the bushes are cut with more care than my hair had ever received. No trees to cover, bigger driveways but not the bigger everything like you’ll find from the houses at the very top. This was some strange in-between place and even stranger yet I found a rabbit there.

Brown creature with flecks of gold in its fur. Its big eyes are glossy black marbles. Its nose bounces up and down as it chews on some grass very casual like. Its ears twitch to the side as it hears all of Queensbury, all of it at once. Acutely aware of many things it was like an omnipresent being.

Continue Reading →