Gloria and TRM take to the road

Truth in blogging:  As this is a work of fiction, Billington's Cove is and can be located on the East and West Coasts as suits the author's whim.   Wherever it is is just where it needs to be.

Welcoming photo, thanks to this vendor in Manitoba.

Rose Creek Road was not the shortest route from Billington's Cove to the almost-urban bustle of San Luis but it was the most graceful, the one most likely to calm a racing pulse, quiet a chattering mind.  As it wound past fields where horses leaned over the fence hoping for a car to stop, apples already sliced for generous sharing, the air warmed and the scent of wild dill, oak dust and agriculture replaced salt-tinged mist.  Gloria told The Reading Man who owned the farms they passed.  It was a short list.  Land in the valley did not change hands often and holdings never decreased in size.  It was as though well-being was among the crops that flourished there.

There was to a newcomer the sense of being held in a warm embrace, safely placed out of the rasping wind where all was softness and comfort, benevolence beaming through branches that overhung the two-lane tarmac.  He likened it to being one of Gloria's muffins, popped out of the oven and into quilted mitts, at last enfolded in the napkin-lined basket.  So different from the feeling of home he encountered at the Cove where hypnosis was induced by a thrashing or tranquil sea.  He found the opposing elements provided balance.

(This is only half or a third of a post, but it felt so long since our friends made an appearance .  Episodes are episodes.  Some are more complete than others.  The bookstore will play a role in the next act.)