CALL OF THE FOREST Forests were always my favorite place. I remember my first road trip. In the back seat of my Dad's purple-blue Chevy Impala, my nose barely above the chrome framed window, I watch life getting greener. We are on the Interstate going to Indiana, which feels like a foreign country. To a place called Enchanted Forest. On a concrete road called I-94, we cruise through the Southside of Chicago, and over the Indiana state line. A metal “Welcome to Indiana” sign stands at the border, greeting us with a view of monster steel mills, smokestacks like giant cigarettes puffing dark smoke into the sky, and burning smell of melted steel and fired coal. Out the back window I see City life erased in the rear view mirror. Past houses poorly built and jammed onto small spaces of land, windows with dead end views of brick walls. Windows like glass eyes looking over concrete, rusted skeletons of buildings, and metal chain link fences, hum
Comments