Showing posts with label stateside. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stateside. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
threading the eye
bryce canyon. november 2009.
a mystical drive. a storm hit overnight, and fine snow dust was swirling across the road. i'd broken my camera the day before, and so was recording the final two days of my trip with a disposable. that road was so lonesome, so isolated. it was beautiful, but i was glad to leave.
....
it's late, and i'm alone. i'll go outside and unplug the christmas lights in a moment, lock the door, and climb in bed to read about cleopatra and anthony. i wonder if i'll dream about that cold, stormy road when i close my eyes to sleep. i wonder if i'll relive the awe, fear, thrill, giddiness of driving alone through a storm, with only music and a map to direct my wanderings. it would have eased me to have someone there with me, to sit quietly by as the grainy snow gathered and swept across my view, draping the road in gauze then wiping it clean. i remember one ribbon of black wet road, plastered to the wall of a canyon like a gash in the earth. the road curved and wound, hurtling down until it reached the plain, and a town. it's strange how a group of strangers can somehow make you feel more alone than an empty car and an empty road, with nothing there before you.
a mystical drive. a storm hit overnight, and fine snow dust was swirling across the road. i'd broken my camera the day before, and so was recording the final two days of my trip with a disposable. that road was so lonesome, so isolated. it was beautiful, but i was glad to leave.
....
it's late, and i'm alone. i'll go outside and unplug the christmas lights in a moment, lock the door, and climb in bed to read about cleopatra and anthony. i wonder if i'll dream about that cold, stormy road when i close my eyes to sleep. i wonder if i'll relive the awe, fear, thrill, giddiness of driving alone through a storm, with only music and a map to direct my wanderings. it would have eased me to have someone there with me, to sit quietly by as the grainy snow gathered and swept across my view, draping the road in gauze then wiping it clean. i remember one ribbon of black wet road, plastered to the wall of a canyon like a gash in the earth. the road curved and wound, hurtling down until it reached the plain, and a town. it's strange how a group of strangers can somehow make you feel more alone than an empty car and an empty road, with nothing there before you.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)