I, for one, remember what rivers looked like outside train windows, in early morning misty haze. Further back, exploring deep in the caverns of memory, I find pictures of a transistor radio shoved against my ear as I fell asleep under summer sheets. Remembering rivers flowing up and down this vast continent. Seen from flights going from Seattle to New York City. Will afternoon remember morning, after the tide comes in? There’s a feeling comes up when you long to walk by a faraway truck stop diner, or a late-night freeway cloverleaf, bright roadside lights bouncing off the tops of passing cars. Wandering without a destination in mind isn’t an activity meant for everyone. Center of nighttime’s the part always reaching for tomorrow, yet still conversing with evening’s tall tales. Send me some good news in the mail, and I’ll be sending back a postcard with a squiggle drawn on it.
Sweet memories of a sensitive soul.
Beautiful Russell, just beautiful. Thanks for sharing!