Meadows Strip

A Fitzgeraldian imagination of Las Vegas merges with the haibun in an exploration of an idealised cityscape.

Photo by Quintin Gellar on

Sunlight through the dark nights

illuminates the sand from fields of plazas,

a blinding epiphany.

I have heard many rumours in my life. Many were downright lies, and many more were over-exaggerations of some truth. It’s always been a hobby of mine to follow those breadcrumbs that lead some to an ‘eighth wonder’ , and to then thoroughly comb a place to see if such beliefs weigh true. Often, I end up finding nothing. But, on one unforgettable occasion, this trend was spectacularly broken. At a worn gas station in the middle of nowhere-Nevada, I heard an incredulous story from a chatty 10-year old boy wearing stained overalls. He told me about an unfathomable place that he encountered during his roamings, a place that was “miles o’ bright light from edge-to-edge, wi’ streets of gold an’ houses goin’ thru’ the night sky”-in his own words. I was eager to see if it was real or just a figment of the boy’s imagination. I sped on miles of cracking road cut through the baking waves of an inhospitable desert. As hot day turned to cool night, I noticed what seemed to be like another sunrise behind the dunes. Driving up and over, I saw the sight of The Meadows Strip for the first time:

A sea of blazing eternity,

white stones paved with gold

piercing the black, with yellow.

© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021


Photo by Pixabay on

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