Odors, Shadows and Mist

The weather in central Oklahoma has been stormy lately, one series thunderous tempests after the other racing through and leaving paths of destruction. I awoke to a rainstorm this morning. By three, the weather was hot, muggy and sunny.

The combination didn’t last for long. Yet another storm front moved through the area, bringing with it high winds and golf ball-sized hail. It quickly passed, doing no damage in my neighborhood, but it postponed my afternoon walk.

A fragile mist hung in the air as I finally started up the road. Elevated humidity carried lingering odors with it, mostly in moist pockets settling in low spots. They reminded me of the months I had spent in the boonies of Vietnam, shielded from the elements by only a poncho liner and sheet of plastic. After living outdoors for so long, my senses became more acute. They stayed that way long after I returned to the States.

Once, Anne, Ray, Kathy and I were sitting outside by their pool. “It’s going to rain,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re smoking, Pard, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky,” Ray said.

Within five minutes, gentle rain began soaking the cement around the pool causing Ray, Anne and Kathy to stare at me, wide-eyed.

“I could smell it coming,” I explained.

I wasn’t lying. My sense of smell was more acute than others. After living many years now in heated and air conditioned houses, that particular talent has disappeared. Still, as I plodded up the blacktop through my neighborhood, the odors carried by the mist—someone’s septic tank, the fetid smell of damp earth and grass, a dead animal—brought back memories.

It was almost dark as I rounded the last bend and started up the gentle hill to my house. Shadows cast by a darkened sky and surrounding trees formed eerie patterns on the damp and broken asphalt road. A tiny crescent moon and one bright star shined dimly through an open spot in the thick layer of clouds. It was a night perfect for wispy ghosts playing in shadowy mists. The thought crossed my mind as I shut the front door behind me.

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Route 66 Revisited In New Book by Gondwana Press

Edmond, OK, May 10, 2010 — Gondwana Press LLC announces the publication of Lost on Route 66—Tales from the Mother Road.

Lost on Route 66 is a compendium of short stories, essays and poetry about the Mother Road Route 66. Eighteen authors from three countries and many states contributed to the book, and there is a foreword by

r. r. bryan, author of All the Angels and Saints. Katelyn Bohl and Eric Wilder edited the manuscript.

The book, according to Editor Eric Wilder, contains works mostly by previously published authors, many of whom teach writing at the elementary to collegiate level. “The quality of the submissions blew me away,” Wilder said. “Some of the stories and poetry are so powerful that they brought me to tears.”

About Gondwana Press LLC

Founded in 2006, Gondwana Press is an Oklahoma publisher seeking to expand the bounds of both knowledge and entertainment.

Lost on Route 66—Tales from the Mother Road, ISBN 978-0-9791165-1-3, is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and most web-based bookstores and at Gondwana Press. For more information, contact publisher Gary Pittenger at 405-341-0076, or email him at gapitt@sbcglobal.net.

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