You wake late, bludgeoned by a blackout curtain and a quiet highway, disoriented in the timezone of the middle. Race down a misty highway but take a wrong turn and curse your naive time optimism. The GPS winds you through industrial zones and lush, suburban neighborhoods; you do not know how to grasp the scenery. Agitated, you force a stop, a breath, a reset. Realize you are in some sort of lovely park, spring breaking through like a new tooth, a blue heron eyeing you suspiciously fromt the edge of a pond. You are crossing America, you can stand to be sidetracked.
You are crossing America.
If you have to get lost now and then to realize how lucky that makes you,
then maybe that's on you.
No comments:
Post a Comment