The truck driver:
Sunday drivin away from home into the wide open.
Wyoming places, snow fences, antelope and distance.
I washed the truck last week, now itâ€™s covered with bugs.
Before I leave she says, â€œyouâ€™re sweaty, you should shower before you go, youâ€™ll be more comfortable.â€
I donâ€™t think so.Â I smell like garden, burning pine needles, bee hive and her.Â Iâ€™ll be alright with that for a few days.
Ran into my son, Matt, at a rest area inÂ Ft. Collins on my way north.Â Bid him farewell, heâ€™s off on an adventure to Mongolia tomorrow.
Isnâ€™t that next to Siam?
The unsettled feeling in between letting go of his hand and landing back in my world with without him.
Thatâ€™s a little what leaving days are like.
Lots of wandering and looking.Â Social media further unsettles.
It is not for my landing.
Weather too hot to be outside, I spend time in my studio.Â It feels cerebral.
Mostly itâ€™s just wandering and lookingâ€¦feeling the traces of him wherever I go.Â His spiritÂ is lingering today.Â It wanders and looks with me.
I bit of a whirlwind and then goneâ€¦was it a dream?Â No.Â I see evidence all over.Â I think about each minuteâ€¦cherishing them.Â When weâ€™re luckyâ€¦we have 8 days a month together.
Valuable. Important. Wonderful. Fun.
I run through the sprinkler and lay on the clover in the shade and stare at the sky.
I let leaving day keep me suspendedâ€¦honoring.Â My life will barge in soon enough demanding
my attention, my mind, my thoughts.