11 June 2019

my body, on a road trip

19. my body on a road trip
open window, breeze
fingers making waves to sea
electrifying

coastal days in a salty haze, I watch wild horses roam seaside fields along a faded horizon of dusty blush that melts like butter into the soft rippled whispers of eternal water. How does this place exist? My teeth feel dry from smiling and a hint of wind hits my eye. I wipe away a tear that blurs the horses’ grazing. I fixate on the bluest of blues but wow this grass is something that could only be manufactured out of a tube of paint, I swear it. My eyesight feels wasted on concrete commutes. Four-hundred miles from home, and I could do it, but I don’t want to miss a minute of a view like this. One more deep breath; one more roadside pee. I drive a bit further down and find a nook to watch the sunset. What does this feel like? Falling asleep on a blanket in summer while tibby eats grass. The first night that the touch of bare feet feel warm on the steps leading to the front door. A big ole sniff of rose petals fresh with morning dew. The utter glee my niece showcases as I hold her hands and spin her around and around on the hardwood floors. Pure. No gimmicks. No filters. No phones. Present. 

This roll is a slideshow of what I want in life. A fever of road trips behind westfalias in forest groves while I take grainy photos of foggy sunrises and sip milky coffee out of a steaming thermos before finishing the roll as dawn breaks over my lover’s shoulders. I’ll finally read, 100 years of solitude in a hammock under a forest skyline and go to bed smelling like a fresh fire, watching embers fade in a sea of stars, stretching silently above my own little eternity. 

June 11, 2019