Dreams.... of flying through the treetops, of the woods behind my aunt's house. The old fig tree in her back yard that me and two of my cousins could not wrap our arms around the trunk. Of the little crook in that fig tree where I used to climb with a book and eat figs and read... and would throughly irritate my parents because I could walk out the back door and vanish.
Dreams of seeing a woman who I recognize as my mother, but much younger than I can remember holding a tiny red haired baby... and thinking to myself she is so beautiful.. so much potential. I want to BE her. Late late at night, stealing into the house through an open window and slipping in through those innocent blue eyes. I open my... OUR .. mouth for a gasp....
..... and am startled into consciousness by loud, high pitched beeping next to my head. Fahk.
Wait... I seem to remember other things happening last night. What happened??? How did I get back?? And where are my pants! Growling, I reach for the offending technological "wonder" and after fumbling for a bit, I finally get enough brain cells functioning to silence the irritating object and start dragging myself back towards consciousness.
Dragging on some clothes, I make my way to the ranger station to check in and apologetically explain my unannounced arrival to the park rangers. They're fine with it, and the system shows I was here before, so after paying the fee for my campsite, I start asking for some of that sweetest nectar of the gods.. the only thing that makes mornings tolerable... coffee.. and find they have none. After asking around, I am directed to a cafe in town, where I can find coffee... and, glories of all glories, breakfast tacos.
Pulling up to the cafe around 10ish, I'm delighted by yet another find. Well, it sure looks authentic! Old building, many many things hanging from the ceiling.. anything from pinatas, dollar bills, sparkly bits of stuff, an indescribable collection of various bits and pieces. A jungle of plant life all over the front of the store giving the light a greenish tint, and making the inside even more humid than the outside. I make my way to the counter, find the lady there BARELY speaks any english, but together with my broken spanish, her broken english, two barbacoa breakast tacos and coffee are aquired and I settle down at a table next to the window to eat my breakfast and contemplate the night's events.
Did anything really happen? How did I get back to the tent?
Just be you. You know your own soul. Remember me. Remember your own skin.
My rational mind wants to explain it all away. It was a dream. Nothing more.... and yet. I don't know. I've dreamed for so long. My life has been spent trying to discount the things I've seen. I slept for years. Watched others, when I did finally open up and start talking about what I had seen, either say I'm crazy, or ... worse yet.. start wrapping it into some stupid fantasy... of elves, and being a "princess of the fae". Bullshit. My life, my beliefs, my very being are not some child's fantasy... an escape from reality to be played with. I've hidden for so long. Can it be real? Is there even the slightest chance that it could be? Images from the night before flash through my mind... of an endless sea of stars overhead, of a crystal clear pool, of a curtain of deepest green with motes of reflected starlight from night jasmine.... and of golden eyes out of an inky black face.
Maybe. Just maybe. But tell no one.
Flying down the road again, this time I'm headed for Galveston. The gulf. Salt spray on the wind. The land of proper seafood! Oh I love seafood... and I grabbed an empty cooler to bring back some of the good stuff. Dallas is great, and there's glorious variety, but there's a difference between the good stuff down here and what you get at home. I remember when I was a child, and we would come down to visit my aunt in League City, that there were places in Kemah where you could stop and get a 5 gallon bucket of shrimp right off the boat for 20$... bring your own bucket. Last time I was in Kemah, I discovered "The Boardwalk" where the boats used to be. The shrimpers are gone, and this loud, garish, crowded tourist trap is in its place. Progress... Bah. After poking around for some time, I heard that there's a place in Galveston where the shrimpers park now, and I will be stopping there to check it out.
Calling ahead, and Lady Luck has definately smiled on me, and there is a campsite available in the state park. No water or electric, but I don't need any. Its just me and I'm not going to be cooking... although I may grab a bag of marshmallows and some grahan crackers and chocolate. ;) You've gotta forgive a lady her indulgences sometimes. On the bay side... away from the strongest winds off the gulf. Those have always bothered me, and I can't sleep well with them buffeting the tent. Something to do with growing up in tornado alley and hearing the gale outside and wanting to dive for the storm cellar. Eventually I make my way to the park, set up my sleeping quarters during the daylight... one of the few times I've done that. I'm usually pulling in well after dark and have become quite adept at setting things up with no light. , and head off in search of supper.
Cheap or exquisite. That is the biggest question on my mind. I have heard of a place that serves excellent, authentic shrimp poboys, and while I'm in the mood for seafood, I'm also in the mood for lots of it. My fish craving has kicked into overdrive and I head to a rather expensive, but awe inspiring place that I know I can get all I want.
Sitting at a window seat, overlooking the bay, the Elissa parked next door, I curl up with a book written by a fellow traveller. His journeys and exploits what kept that hope alive during those dark years. Hearing of how he had always been free, how he was taking off to hither and yon, seeing... feeling... experiencing. Actively writing the book that was his life.. and it was a page turner indeed.
Making my way back to the park.. its still early, but the lack of sleep and a full belly of fish is catching up with me. I decide the hell with it, its my vacation, and I can nap if I want to... and turn in before the sun has set.
Wind.
Angry. Violent. Caving in the side of the tent. The sun had set long ago and its late enough, there is no sound from other people... at least none that I can hear over the wind.
... and then I smell it.
The scent of salt and metals on the air. Blood. Sickeningly sweet rotten meat.
Oh god. Not here. There's noplace to run to. No place to hide. No one to protect me. To hide behind.
I've spoken to a couple people who know that scent... and the thing that reeks of it. I always wait for them to talk, but all who have admitted to it, have that fear. That haunted, hunted look in their eyes, only whisper of their existance, and always while watching over their shoulder. I knew it well in Oklahoma... and I refuse to set my foot in that place again because of it. I remember as a child, watching them reveling in the moonlight on the far side of the garden outside my window... and cowering in abject fear. Praying for god, jesus, or whatever was out there, to protect me. I knew better than to run to my parents, as they had already gotten to my father, and my mother did not believe in them.
Not here. I am alone. Oh god... please.
SNAP OUT OF IT. YOU ARE NEVER ALONE!
A memory of golden eyes in the starlight. Of the scent of pine and jasmine. Of the taste of pure, cold, sweet water.
But I'm small, squishy, and helpless! I can't do anything! I can't stop them!
BULLSHIT. Stop listening to them, to the people who tried to tame you. To break you and mold you into some mindless creature. You're better than that. You're STRONGER than that. Stop cowering and FIGHT!
Howls in the wind... not of earthly voices. Evil laughter echoing in that wind. They can smell me... and others. I grab my hiking staff from beside me and step outside... quaking in fear. The wind almost blowing me back inside the tent, I struggle to zip up the door.. and strain my eyes along the beachfront.
Three humanoid shapes stand out against the cloudy night sky... reflecting the sickly yellow of the city lights. About child height, with thin arms and legs, but bloated bodies.... and teeth. Rows and rows of gleaming, pointed teeth.
Okay, now what? Every time I've ever been in a fight, I've always gotten my ass handed to me. I'm no fighter.
You know your own soul. Remember your own skin.
Closing my eyes, I remember wings. Covering me when I was afraid as a child. A strong hand in the darkness, cradling me in saftey. I remember music... an ancient gypsy tune.. older than time... spiraling to the stars. And then the stars themselves. Vast beyond measure. I remember laughter in the light of two moons. I remember the floating trees of a poision planet.. above the noxious layer of gases, with giant mosquito like sap suckers flitting from tree to tree for the next life giving sip. I remember fields of black and purple flowers, trees taller than any I've ever seen... and laughter. Looking over by my side, running at full speed, long black locks... dark eyes... thin frame.
Not every time does shaking mean fear... and just because I am showing my teeth doesn't mean I'm smiling.
Come and get some... if you dare.
The howls change tone and retreat. The forms vanish... the scent fades... the wind calms
.. and I crawl back into the tent for more much needed rest. Knowing that I am safe.. for now.
Tomorrow a full day awaits, and then the drive home.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
The Call
**** FICTION****
Thursday after work I was too tired to cook. Not in the mood, LONG frazzling day at work, and just grabbed a pizza on the commute home. It normally takes me about 45 minutes to get home from my work in downtown Dallas and after grabbing pizza, I was about 10 minutes out. Delicious pepperoni and cheezy greasy goodness smells filling the car... and I "zoned". I really don't know how I ended up passing the side street into our neighborhood, going all the way through Cedar Hill, and well on my way south on 67 headed southwest. I called my husband and apologetically told him I was going to be late, where I was, and that I had pizza. Hung up....
...and almost missed the turn on 287 to come back north.
Took the back road home through a little ghost town called Britton with a wonderful falling down Citizen's bank. I needed to be out. To feel the wind.
Fine. I can't go tonight. I have obligations. I promise... tomorrow.
Friday.. I love my job. Really and truly. I get to problem solve, firefight, and screw around more than any place I've ever been before. I'd already thrown a couple changes of clothes in a bag the night before.. so at 6, I don't think they realized I'd gone until after the smoke trails cleared from my tires. This one was for me.
South on 45. Traffic doesn't bother me that much, and I wanted to get out of the metromess before I started playing. I knew I wouldn't start really feeling things until I got into the pines anyway. I'm headed for Galveston, but as 287 looms into view in Corsicana, I swing that way. Southeast. My home. Again and again, I'm called to one area. Out in the Angelina national forest. Deep woods. As the miles speed past the smell changes. First, prairies and grasslands. Warm, rich, but dry. I can smell the dust. Oh, its still got a lot of green... it is May after all, but its a hot May. As the terrain changes, the smell changes. The feel of the air. The feel of the heat itself is lessened. Entering the edge of the forests around Palestine and my soul sings. Finally. Rest. Now it truly begins. Take a small break at a gas station cafe in Palestine, and start talking to the lady at the counter as I drink my sweet tea and relax. She seems a bit amazed I'm out here "all by my little lonesome", so far out of the way from Dallas to Galveston, and going to go camping??? Me? All by myself??
Why not?
But aren't you afraid? So many things can happen on the road, and I've heard bad things happening to single women.
Then, I'll deal with them. Bad things can happen to you at home, just getting to work every day there are a thousand things that could happen. You can't spend your life in fear of what Might happen, or you'll miss the reason for life itself.
She laughed and tossed her hair back, leaning across the counter.. "So, sage of Dallas, what is the reason for life?"
The experience of being alive.
Tea finished, it was time to go. The forest, and eventually the gulf calling... beckoning.. Come. See. I pulled out into the cooling evening air, hopefully leaving her with something to think about. I don't know if she'll ever follow, but maybe... just maybe... I have liberated another mind.
Trees. I can't stay still for long out here. I need speed in these woods. When I was a child and we would pull in from Oklahoma, the first thing I would do would be get a few deep breaths.. to smell the forest, to smell home. Then the shoes would come off, and I would run. Until I could run no more. The thrill of running through the forest, through the trees. Eventually, I would stop, then just sit and listen. It was very hard to get me inside when we were down here.
Night time in deep east Texas. Well, I meant to go to Galveston.. really! But I'm having far too much fun out here. I guess it will have to wait until tomorrow... but wait.
Over on the edge of the light.. a shape. Keeping pace with me. I've felt and seen this before. When I was a child, I would welcome them. Audibly. Mom always knew I was a bit... strange. I hadn't done that since I'd grown up, and certainly not with my ex-husband in the car the few times he deigned to come out here. But I had never been out here alone. Free to do as I would. Nobody with me to say I'm weird, strange, "cracked", or what have you. I smiled.
Hello old friend. It is good to see you again. Come and talk a spell if you like.
I feel a smile.. a warmth.. the smell of night jasmine and fresh crushed pine needles fills the car... but its not time yet. Its time to run. To fly. Speed increses, Twisty, windy, curvy roads.. The joy of flight. The closest I can come. My machine and I are one... smiling as we speed through the night, until exaustion overtakes.
Livingston state park. Suitably deep woods. Proper smells. I pull in around 2 in the morning... setting the alarm on my phone to go check in with the ranger station / park office at 9 when they open. Pull out my tent and sleeping bag ... and air mattress.... sorry folks, if you were there that night, I didn't mean to wake you... and settle in.
...and start listening. Wind. high above me in the treetops. Skittering a few wisps of high thin clouds across the stars. Starlight. So bright, so beautiful. Hearing the wind as it travels through the treetops, rolls, dips into the underbrush. As it plays with the leaves. So many scents on the wind here... and as I lay there, listening to the wind... watching it around me, the scent of jasmine again. Very faint, but it is there. Footfalls.. slow and light, lighter than a human would make... especially with the thick carpet of pine needles all around my site. I am tired, but I know.. it is time. I pull on some clothes and step outside the tent.
I've never understood why some people need a flashlight out here. Yes, it is dim, but unless its raining, the starlight is plenty bright enough to see by. Sitting on the edge of the campsite is a feline form, with its head about level with my waist. Golden eyes reflecting the starlight, and watching my every move. I take a deep breath and decide if I'm wrong about this, no mere tent is going to hamper those claws or teeth, zip up the tent behind me, and go sit on the ground with my back against a tree.
Slowly, she pads up to me. Purring deeply. Watching me still. Letting me know I have seen her before. Over a year ago, deep in these woods, in a way that I could not dismiss. Forcing me to see, and to believe that she was there. Then, as now, when I saw her, I knew.. she was a part of me... she was me. Without the constraints of work, of family, of bills. I smile and reach out my hand ... as she squarely headbutts me in the chest. As with any housecat, it is a sign of affection, but I am grateful I had the tree behind me, or she would have bowled me over. Gently now, she places her nose to my forehead and purrs even deeper. Turning, she looks over her shoulder and starts walking away. I see a faint trail, leading off into the forest in the starlight.. the nighttime music calling. Just the tip of her tail flicking, she pauses for me to follow, then starts off down that trail. All exaustion banished from my mind, I get up and start walking. Twists and turns of the path, sometimes down to the lake's edge, sometimes you can barely hear the frogs piping from the the cool black water.
Further and further we go, turning off the main trails, through a barb wire fence, and down what must have been a rabbit trail... until we stop at a clearing.
Immediately I know this place. I've dreamt of it since I was a child. I had thought I might have been here, on a fishing trip with my uncle, as that would have been the only rational way to explain the memory, but my uncle would have never fished here. It is a small pool. Clean, clear water. As clear as the best kept swimming pool.... and much much cleaner. Bubbling up from below, it is ice cold. Jasmine and wisteria climbing the pines around the clearing... creating a living curtain from the outside world. Night jasmine in full bloom, filling the area with the scent and looking like little white stars in a curtain of deepest green. She stops and drinks from the pool, and I do the same, feeling complete refreshment from the cool, sweet liquid.
Why did you turn your back on me?
I stammer and sigh. Obligations. Responsibilities. Real life. I had no choice. I was with those who could not understand. Years I spent doing what was expected of me. What others wished for me. I did it well, and I made those people I loved most, happy.
I have always been here. Do your needs matter so little, you would sacrifice me to those who would betray you for a thrill? Who could not know, could not understand, and refused to see you for you?
I had no choice. To be accepted, to be loved, I had to lock you away from me. I had to slip on those chains. I eventually broke free, but even now, I hide most of what I am. Those who would love me and accept me do not need to see everything.
Love is complete or not at all. You know this. You live by this. Acceptance is total or it is worthless. You judge people by double standards, allowing them faults and lies you could never live with in yourself. You lie to yourself and to those you love most by hiding who you are... who I am.
What should I do then? Speak my mind? Attack those who irritate me, or have wronged me? I, WE, are shapechangers.. chamelions.. wandering through time.. I know this.. I've always known. I change myself for those around me to be most comfortable. I've been changed for so long, I don't know who I am. What in god's name should I do?
Just be you. You know your own soul. You ignore your own needs for the needs of everyone else. Trying so desperately to be accepted, you lose yourself in others. Be the shapeshifter, but remember me. Remember your own skin.
Running my fingers through her luxurious pelt, I smile. I'm nowhere near as tame as someone tried to make me. Leaning back, I find I can keep my eyes open no longer, and with a parting worry that I need to check into the ranger station in the morning and that my cell phone is still back in the campsite, I drift off into slumber.
*******
Thursday after work I was too tired to cook. Not in the mood, LONG frazzling day at work, and just grabbed a pizza on the commute home. It normally takes me about 45 minutes to get home from my work in downtown Dallas and after grabbing pizza, I was about 10 minutes out. Delicious pepperoni and cheezy greasy goodness smells filling the car... and I "zoned". I really don't know how I ended up passing the side street into our neighborhood, going all the way through Cedar Hill, and well on my way south on 67 headed southwest. I called my husband and apologetically told him I was going to be late, where I was, and that I had pizza. Hung up....
...and almost missed the turn on 287 to come back north.
Took the back road home through a little ghost town called Britton with a wonderful falling down Citizen's bank. I needed to be out. To feel the wind.
Fine. I can't go tonight. I have obligations. I promise... tomorrow.
Friday.. I love my job. Really and truly. I get to problem solve, firefight, and screw around more than any place I've ever been before. I'd already thrown a couple changes of clothes in a bag the night before.. so at 6, I don't think they realized I'd gone until after the smoke trails cleared from my tires. This one was for me.
South on 45. Traffic doesn't bother me that much, and I wanted to get out of the metromess before I started playing. I knew I wouldn't start really feeling things until I got into the pines anyway. I'm headed for Galveston, but as 287 looms into view in Corsicana, I swing that way. Southeast. My home. Again and again, I'm called to one area. Out in the Angelina national forest. Deep woods. As the miles speed past the smell changes. First, prairies and grasslands. Warm, rich, but dry. I can smell the dust. Oh, its still got a lot of green... it is May after all, but its a hot May. As the terrain changes, the smell changes. The feel of the air. The feel of the heat itself is lessened. Entering the edge of the forests around Palestine and my soul sings. Finally. Rest. Now it truly begins. Take a small break at a gas station cafe in Palestine, and start talking to the lady at the counter as I drink my sweet tea and relax. She seems a bit amazed I'm out here "all by my little lonesome", so far out of the way from Dallas to Galveston, and going to go camping??? Me? All by myself??
Why not?
But aren't you afraid? So many things can happen on the road, and I've heard bad things happening to single women.
Then, I'll deal with them. Bad things can happen to you at home, just getting to work every day there are a thousand things that could happen. You can't spend your life in fear of what Might happen, or you'll miss the reason for life itself.
She laughed and tossed her hair back, leaning across the counter.. "So, sage of Dallas, what is the reason for life?"
The experience of being alive.
Tea finished, it was time to go. The forest, and eventually the gulf calling... beckoning.. Come. See. I pulled out into the cooling evening air, hopefully leaving her with something to think about. I don't know if she'll ever follow, but maybe... just maybe... I have liberated another mind.
Trees. I can't stay still for long out here. I need speed in these woods. When I was a child and we would pull in from Oklahoma, the first thing I would do would be get a few deep breaths.. to smell the forest, to smell home. Then the shoes would come off, and I would run. Until I could run no more. The thrill of running through the forest, through the trees. Eventually, I would stop, then just sit and listen. It was very hard to get me inside when we were down here.
Night time in deep east Texas. Well, I meant to go to Galveston.. really! But I'm having far too much fun out here. I guess it will have to wait until tomorrow... but wait.
Over on the edge of the light.. a shape. Keeping pace with me. I've felt and seen this before. When I was a child, I would welcome them. Audibly. Mom always knew I was a bit... strange. I hadn't done that since I'd grown up, and certainly not with my ex-husband in the car the few times he deigned to come out here. But I had never been out here alone. Free to do as I would. Nobody with me to say I'm weird, strange, "cracked", or what have you. I smiled.
Hello old friend. It is good to see you again. Come and talk a spell if you like.
I feel a smile.. a warmth.. the smell of night jasmine and fresh crushed pine needles fills the car... but its not time yet. Its time to run. To fly. Speed increses, Twisty, windy, curvy roads.. The joy of flight. The closest I can come. My machine and I are one... smiling as we speed through the night, until exaustion overtakes.
Livingston state park. Suitably deep woods. Proper smells. I pull in around 2 in the morning... setting the alarm on my phone to go check in with the ranger station / park office at 9 when they open. Pull out my tent and sleeping bag ... and air mattress.... sorry folks, if you were there that night, I didn't mean to wake you... and settle in.
...and start listening. Wind. high above me in the treetops. Skittering a few wisps of high thin clouds across the stars. Starlight. So bright, so beautiful. Hearing the wind as it travels through the treetops, rolls, dips into the underbrush. As it plays with the leaves. So many scents on the wind here... and as I lay there, listening to the wind... watching it around me, the scent of jasmine again. Very faint, but it is there. Footfalls.. slow and light, lighter than a human would make... especially with the thick carpet of pine needles all around my site. I am tired, but I know.. it is time. I pull on some clothes and step outside the tent.
I've never understood why some people need a flashlight out here. Yes, it is dim, but unless its raining, the starlight is plenty bright enough to see by. Sitting on the edge of the campsite is a feline form, with its head about level with my waist. Golden eyes reflecting the starlight, and watching my every move. I take a deep breath and decide if I'm wrong about this, no mere tent is going to hamper those claws or teeth, zip up the tent behind me, and go sit on the ground with my back against a tree.
Slowly, she pads up to me. Purring deeply. Watching me still. Letting me know I have seen her before. Over a year ago, deep in these woods, in a way that I could not dismiss. Forcing me to see, and to believe that she was there. Then, as now, when I saw her, I knew.. she was a part of me... she was me. Without the constraints of work, of family, of bills. I smile and reach out my hand ... as she squarely headbutts me in the chest. As with any housecat, it is a sign of affection, but I am grateful I had the tree behind me, or she would have bowled me over. Gently now, she places her nose to my forehead and purrs even deeper. Turning, she looks over her shoulder and starts walking away. I see a faint trail, leading off into the forest in the starlight.. the nighttime music calling. Just the tip of her tail flicking, she pauses for me to follow, then starts off down that trail. All exaustion banished from my mind, I get up and start walking. Twists and turns of the path, sometimes down to the lake's edge, sometimes you can barely hear the frogs piping from the the cool black water.
Further and further we go, turning off the main trails, through a barb wire fence, and down what must have been a rabbit trail... until we stop at a clearing.
Immediately I know this place. I've dreamt of it since I was a child. I had thought I might have been here, on a fishing trip with my uncle, as that would have been the only rational way to explain the memory, but my uncle would have never fished here. It is a small pool. Clean, clear water. As clear as the best kept swimming pool.... and much much cleaner. Bubbling up from below, it is ice cold. Jasmine and wisteria climbing the pines around the clearing... creating a living curtain from the outside world. Night jasmine in full bloom, filling the area with the scent and looking like little white stars in a curtain of deepest green. She stops and drinks from the pool, and I do the same, feeling complete refreshment from the cool, sweet liquid.
Why did you turn your back on me?
I stammer and sigh. Obligations. Responsibilities. Real life. I had no choice. I was with those who could not understand. Years I spent doing what was expected of me. What others wished for me. I did it well, and I made those people I loved most, happy.
I have always been here. Do your needs matter so little, you would sacrifice me to those who would betray you for a thrill? Who could not know, could not understand, and refused to see you for you?
I had no choice. To be accepted, to be loved, I had to lock you away from me. I had to slip on those chains. I eventually broke free, but even now, I hide most of what I am. Those who would love me and accept me do not need to see everything.
Love is complete or not at all. You know this. You live by this. Acceptance is total or it is worthless. You judge people by double standards, allowing them faults and lies you could never live with in yourself. You lie to yourself and to those you love most by hiding who you are... who I am.
What should I do then? Speak my mind? Attack those who irritate me, or have wronged me? I, WE, are shapechangers.. chamelions.. wandering through time.. I know this.. I've always known. I change myself for those around me to be most comfortable. I've been changed for so long, I don't know who I am. What in god's name should I do?
Just be you. You know your own soul. You ignore your own needs for the needs of everyone else. Trying so desperately to be accepted, you lose yourself in others. Be the shapeshifter, but remember me. Remember your own skin.
Running my fingers through her luxurious pelt, I smile. I'm nowhere near as tame as someone tried to make me. Leaning back, I find I can keep my eyes open no longer, and with a parting worry that I need to check into the ranger station in the morning and that my cell phone is still back in the campsite, I drift off into slumber.
*******
Friday, June 06, 2008
Hill country musings
Curves.
Sensual, alluring, compelling, calling for a gentle nudge here, a strong swift stroke there, up, down.
Moonlight.
Soft, creating mystery, cool light, speaking - calling to the inner wanderer.
Night wind.
Cool, fresh, all the smells of the day, the drying grains and grasses in the field, water over the next ridge, skunk a half mile back, playing with the moon and clouds. The smell of the gulf a hundred miles away, the pine forests, the prairies, all wrapped into one being. Feel the joy of the wind... of being free. To toss the wisps of clouds skittering across the moon. Calling to come play... to tell you the stories of the places its been.
All of these things together creates magic. A late spring evening finding me lost way out on some back road.... well, not exactly lost.. I was somewhere on a red squiggly line on a map, roughly between Hye and Blanco. The song of the wanderer filling my ears as the pavement sped beneath me. Stars filling the night sky, with moonlight so bright you could go on forever. Why do some of us have this need? Need to be free, to fly, to see the unknown. Its so rare... so many look at us with this wayward glance when they ask me what I did all weekend. How, in god's green earth, did it take you 12 hours to get to Dallas from San Antonio???
I wanted to see what was between here and there.
Oh, I've made the trip many times. I've gone the "conventional" way, the back way, the round about way, but they're all the old way. Lets find the new way. Plot a new course. Something with lots of curves, some really neat terrain, a lot of water, and open sky. Reflections of the weekend flashing through my mind. Tubing down the Comal river, an old fiddler in Kerrville sending up the most beautiful piece to the stars above... and a luscious little blonde with a glorious Texan twang walking up to my husband in Lukenbach and without hesitation or asking for a name, "Are you wearing a thong?" to which his prompt reply was "Are you?" which led to a rather interesting and amusing conversation.
Why do we do it? Why do we need it. When so many are comfortable in this digital age to sit at home and see the world from the comfort of their couch or computer chair. It would be cheaper and safer to just stay home. With the prayer that was the old fiddler's song still ringing in my ears, I knew the answer.
Life.
But what is the meaning of life? Why are we here? What purpose is it?
Simply to be alive. We are creatures born of pleasure and pain. Strife, passion, blood, sweat, rage, jubilation. A creature of pure energy, made of flesh from star stuff, here to wander.
But why do look at me so askance when they hear my answer? Why, even among those special people in my life, are those who cannot understand? Who cannot share that same passion... that same drive?
Not all are the same. No, there are no better or worse, but there is a difference of spirit. Some are here here to teach others, or to learn themselves.. others here to fight, to heal, to mend... And then there are some here to watch. Oh, we've been around this world a time or two.. played all the roles. Each of us has that special role we love playing, that one that feels so comfortable, but with one key difference. There is that passion... that lust for knowledge, for the new, for the unexplored. Not a thirst for danger, exactly. We are the pioneers that settled this great country. We are the adventurers who find what was lost. The records of our lives are kept not as a record of one person who tilled his fields, kept his sheep, and died old and happy... but as the one who brought back knowledge of what was beyond the great waters.
Speeding on through the night, the wind speaking of cactus blossoms, cool springs, and hidden glens.
Life is short.
Time is fleeting.
Change is forever.
Come see.
Sensual, alluring, compelling, calling for a gentle nudge here, a strong swift stroke there, up, down.
Moonlight.
Soft, creating mystery, cool light, speaking - calling to the inner wanderer.
Night wind.
Cool, fresh, all the smells of the day, the drying grains and grasses in the field, water over the next ridge, skunk a half mile back, playing with the moon and clouds. The smell of the gulf a hundred miles away, the pine forests, the prairies, all wrapped into one being. Feel the joy of the wind... of being free. To toss the wisps of clouds skittering across the moon. Calling to come play... to tell you the stories of the places its been.
All of these things together creates magic. A late spring evening finding me lost way out on some back road.... well, not exactly lost.. I was somewhere on a red squiggly line on a map, roughly between Hye and Blanco. The song of the wanderer filling my ears as the pavement sped beneath me. Stars filling the night sky, with moonlight so bright you could go on forever. Why do some of us have this need? Need to be free, to fly, to see the unknown. Its so rare... so many look at us with this wayward glance when they ask me what I did all weekend. How, in god's green earth, did it take you 12 hours to get to Dallas from San Antonio???
I wanted to see what was between here and there.
Oh, I've made the trip many times. I've gone the "conventional" way, the back way, the round about way, but they're all the old way. Lets find the new way. Plot a new course. Something with lots of curves, some really neat terrain, a lot of water, and open sky. Reflections of the weekend flashing through my mind. Tubing down the Comal river, an old fiddler in Kerrville sending up the most beautiful piece to the stars above... and a luscious little blonde with a glorious Texan twang walking up to my husband in Lukenbach and without hesitation or asking for a name, "Are you wearing a thong?" to which his prompt reply was "Are you?" which led to a rather interesting and amusing conversation.
Why do we do it? Why do we need it. When so many are comfortable in this digital age to sit at home and see the world from the comfort of their couch or computer chair. It would be cheaper and safer to just stay home. With the prayer that was the old fiddler's song still ringing in my ears, I knew the answer.
Life.
But what is the meaning of life? Why are we here? What purpose is it?
Simply to be alive. We are creatures born of pleasure and pain. Strife, passion, blood, sweat, rage, jubilation. A creature of pure energy, made of flesh from star stuff, here to wander.
But why do look at me so askance when they hear my answer? Why, even among those special people in my life, are those who cannot understand? Who cannot share that same passion... that same drive?
Not all are the same. No, there are no better or worse, but there is a difference of spirit. Some are here here to teach others, or to learn themselves.. others here to fight, to heal, to mend... And then there are some here to watch. Oh, we've been around this world a time or two.. played all the roles. Each of us has that special role we love playing, that one that feels so comfortable, but with one key difference. There is that passion... that lust for knowledge, for the new, for the unexplored. Not a thirst for danger, exactly. We are the pioneers that settled this great country. We are the adventurers who find what was lost. The records of our lives are kept not as a record of one person who tilled his fields, kept his sheep, and died old and happy... but as the one who brought back knowledge of what was beyond the great waters.
Speeding on through the night, the wind speaking of cactus blossoms, cool springs, and hidden glens.
Life is short.
Time is fleeting.
Change is forever.
Come see.
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