No Sham

Visitors stream in and out of the little apartment near the church. I shuttle back and forth to the train station to pick up, drop off, introduce and show off the city that will not stop raining. We discover new hidden corners together, but I always walk them past the lookout, past the old wooden houses where families would toil and never grow old before their backs broke in them. I do not know the sparkling City at the center, where the successful toast and maintain the economy, and my guests do not get to see it.

I think this adventure was simply meant to be, he says as he surveys the streets that will be his while I am away. I have no agenda. I will simply go where I go. My ticket burns in my back pocket; in a few days will I not myself be navigating the wild highway of America, staring into the sun? We cannot stop to see where we are going, we haven't the time; isn't it better just to go?

I think of all the angels that have opened their doors and spare mattresses to me, all these years. How I delight in opening mine. Wandering souls unite in discovery, in the delight of the adventure.

It is the only way
to live a life.