...

In the beginning there was a Missing Mile. My own Missing Mile. Left but not forgotten. And one can find it on a map unlike Poppy`s Missing Mile.
There was cold sea and neverending fog.
Rains and conical-shaped hills.
Camp fires and small rivers.
Constellations in the black sky.
Boundless thickets of wormwood.
May be one day I`ll see it again. And may be not. But then...

"He needn`t have worried about accidentally coming upon the Devil`s Tramping Ground, he realized.
The Devil`s Tramping Ground had come to him."

And then the Birdland...

"Daddy could only reach his Birdland by drinking now. Trevor had begun to believe his own Birdland might be the pen moving over the paper, the weight of the sketchbook in his hands, the creation of worlds out of ink and sweat and love.The doctors at the hospital in Raleigh called it catatonia. Trevor knew it was Birdland. Not just the place where no one else could touch you, but the place you went when the real world scared you away."

Chronicles of Missing Mile and New Orleans create new worlds. Just open the door to summer`s night and look at the full moon.
My surname is not McGee or Black, but I guess I`ve found it.

My
own
Birdland

And the story is going on...
It will going on.
Because there`s no another way...



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