Wormholes may or may not exist between the galaxies but one definitely exists on my drive to work. Every fall, the oranges, purples, and yellows of the Virginia maples and oaks form a Kubrickian star gate that transports me to November 7th, 1999 on the Cumberland Plateau of the Appalachian Mountains.
My cousin had tied the knot the day before at The University of the South, where he and his new bride met in Sewanee, Tennessee. I had driven there from Birmingham where I was still in college and was set to drive back on Sunday. Someone told me that I had to go see the Memorial Cross before I left. Dedicated in 1923 and perched on the overlook of the plateau, this 60-foot cross memorialized those from the school and county who died in World War I. [ . . . ]
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