You wake to the sound of cars in the rain, to the soft sense of a world muted. In your kitchen window, a cruise ship covers the Manhattan skyline, and you think how great it must be to board a boat on a rainy, gray morning and know that soon you will be where the palm trees are. You make coffee and return to the wood-paneled living room, sit and write in the silence, willing yourself to ignore the deadlines that loom on your own horizon. Outside your window, the trees are popping their sticky green popcorn kernels into existence.
The budding trees are a precursor to May, and May is a reminder of the Road. Your whole life, spring has been the time to run, to burst forth like those sticky buds and explode like a million tiny sparks of glitter across the continent, has been the time to put everything you own away – things and people alike – and be light as a feather. This gift is not lost on you, nor how it may look like a Madness, depending on your angle.
And what choice do we have, but to unwrap the gifts we've been given,
see what lies in the unknown beyond?
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