Oct/Nov 2015

e c l e c t i c a
s p o t l i g h t   a u t h o r


Roger Mensink

(This is an excerpt—click on the title to view the whole piece!)

Lone Pine Says Howdy

I groaned in my seat. Umpteen times is how many times we had driven this road we were on. Looking back now, I can postulate that it might have become the slender thread that bound us to each other. And now this. I was tired of the jive, tired of Dolores. Hence, when I saw the welcome outlines, through the windshield, of the mound—red, cylindrical, and almost perfectly symmetrical—I said, with a gusto that was not entirely feigned, "There it is. The mound."