evening light slanting through crimson
leaves, the tang of wood smoke in air gone just the right amount of chilly, a
passionate woman’s shower-damp hair cool against my neck and smelling of
flowers, puppy fur banging my
nose, the delicate thunder of electrified guitar strings, the sting of
golden needles brewed with care in the back of my throat, these things still
amaze. They bring me back to life, in the sense that the road brings me back
home again, and again, and again.
I’ll quote Bilbo Baggins this day that is just another,
but whose alignment of season marks my own personal anniversary:
The road goes ever on and on…
SR
SR
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