Dashed this down last night when I got in. Wanting to keep these memories here.
Leaving, stalling, hugging, kisses, kiss again. Again
In the car, coffee and food, gas, freeway. CHPs everywhere, pulling people over. On the freeway…modest speeds. Miles start to fly by.
Listening. Not to quiet. Not silent but it is quiet. I can hear the podcasts I downloaded. Hear the women talking about their dreams and their books and their sacrifices. I can hear. Clearly. Dreams, yes. Sacrifices, yes.
Moving through hour after hour of miles, listening. Music, my favorites. Death Cab blaring, making me cry a bit. Loss, just the thought of. It makes me think of loss, only days, not so dramatic, but suddenly I am and I can with no witnesses to the ridiculous tears. Cannot see the freeway, stop crying.
Moving, stopping for moment. Finding the ghetto. A penchant we have always had when traveling. Have not lost that ability.
Moving, smelling salty air, fish redolent. On the bay, skirting the city… “All the way from San Francisco as I chase the end of your road….’cause I still have miles to go.”
Reveling in the quiet-filled car, pulsing with music. Air, whipping through my hair.
Alone for ten hours, the first time in years. No one with me, no one to talk to, no conversation, no interruption. Call home and check in, pee, coffee, back on the road.
Plunged into trees and quiet. Tall tall trees, deep deep shadows. Darkening. Nothing there but me, and music and musing on dreams. Do I have one? Am I living it? When does it come? How will I know, clearly or not?
My first ten hours alone in years. And years and years. Not a bad thing. Not at all.
Arriving, pulling in the quiet street in the quiet rental car. Baby up, not mine, but mine nonetheless. Chubby baby legs, grasping them, holding her, finding her. Meeting her for the first time, it seems. On her turf, No longer alone or quiet but totally the reason I came.
Good night. Good night boys, your mama loves you, so very very much. Even up here from Humboldt County.