Leaving the city

I left the black asphalt 100 miles ago. Since then it’s been warm, ruddy concrete framed with bright emerald-grass. Against the red background the yellow line in the middle is that much more intense and brighter – and I follow it blindly. I have general sense of where I want to go, but it’s so much more fun this way. Just going. Not trying. Just driving.

I had a list of places to see. Over dinner, Barbara and Tom had rattled off a few places I had to hit (yes, my sweet landlords invited me out to dinner on the enormous Lake Pontchatrain, where we dined at sunset, talked and laughed. At the end of dinner, out of nowhere, tough-as-nails Barbara pecks my cheek and whispers to my ear, voice scratchy –I’ve known you only a little, but you’re a real special girl, like no other. You take care tomorrow, you’ll find what you’re looking for. I don't know why she's telling me this. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t even know what I’m looking for—a change of scenery, I told everyone. But it was more – Understanding, peace, perspective, hope - that the difficult times when life meanders--or waterfalls--its way into the unexpected that it really is for good, it really is a time to grow...)

So here I am speeding down HWY 90, stopping in strange, worn towns with melodic names to grab a coke or fill up on gas, playing with a melody in my head, racing through the sunshine and the stands of stunted, gnarled, gray trees as far as I could see – surrounded with murky water and weeds - pushing out the first bright, almost neon, green leaves of spring. Against the blue sky – it was unbelievable. There were no offramps or medians to pull to for a photo – instead everyone speeds by, and as a driver/navigator/photog of one, I had no choice but to do the same.