road trips are for dairy queen, rainbows, and lots of coffee, for napping at rest stops and a town named wonder. for skateparks and surprise-here-is-a-rummage-sale & other mysterious destinations. it seems they are also for geriatric chihuahuas on a motorcycle, for telling secrets inside hollow trees, for remembering one’s place in the vastness. for fog & ash & trail & elk & ocean, new connections and old friends. they are for a wedding by the sea, for town halls and samba bands and dancing and generations and stories and easy-fitting pieces in the puzzle of love. they’re for losing five bucks in casino penny slot machines. for white-knuckled rides through cliffs and canyons. for talking to strangers and the one you’re with. for playing pranks and pushing buttons and dress-up mustaches made of moss. (and learning you are allergic to moss. that too.) road trips are for buddy holly and the pixies and this american life.
it was short but very, very sweet.
i missed writing in this space. i’ll be around this week, telling you about the trials and tribulations of making the perfect travel bag, and showing you some junk i picked up in cali!