Spitball Army

Mist nestles in the pinetops. The wind sighs in the branches. Nothing happens; the mist just hangs there. Because this is a scene.

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Card is untitled on its front.

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The docs probe the cancer as curious boys might poke a roadkill squirrel to make sure it’s dead. But it could be playing possum.

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Prior to its unveiling, Birmingham’s Four Spirits Memorial is cloaked in white sheets, like the ghosts it represents.

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Sunday, up early, should be power-washing. Instead of waking the block, I walk it: tossing poorly-thrown newspapers onto porches.

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Card is titled: “Drive-Thru Tree Park.”

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“Muscle Shoals” at The Edge 12, Birmingham, Alabama

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The bitter-old-man saga of Fame Studios founder Rick Hall threatens to dominate Muscle Shoals‘ portrait of an Alabama musical legacy.

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I’m on Twitter, writing about weddings and anniversaries, but the over-arching theme seems to be Facebook.

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Just married! The bride, radiant, poses for photos before the honeymoon begins, pausing briefly to change her name on Facebook.

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