I feel the west. I feel its tug. Colorado, California, long highways stretching into New Mexico and back up twisting knots into Orgeon’s side. Hitchhiking adventures I haven’t had yet, stupid smokings by a sunny creek, curling up with the dog to scratch each others’ backs in evening. I feel that expansiveness in my chest, feel it like a frontier opening as it must have for the settlers, wagon-clad and sweating. I feel my cowboy boots and want to stick them right in that mountain soil, give the horse a good kick and ride on until I can say “I’m home” to the big red sun. That sounds like a good time to me. That sounds like living.
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