“… so it was. so it went. we survived the trip; more than that. 12 days of bombing down the highway.. “
“… and I think that, if, at the end of my life, revealed to me were snapshots, or pictures, or flashbacks of life, I would like to have this, just as it is.”
Often I remember how it was. Evening came and when the heat died down and the cottontails came out I knew it was time. From there I would spin tires down the dirt road and create dust and from there I would ride through the mountains and to the Ocean. To the Ocean! How one could always feel the Ocean before it was seen- the hearty buoyancy of salted air. And with sand in my jeans and my sneakers without socks I would go back to the place from where I came, swooping namelessly to the sound of a dream from which there was no waking.
