To drive for the joy of driving.
Of feeling tires on asphalt.
A sea of trees rising and falling.
Sunlight appearing. Disappearing.
Light and color dance in and out of shadow.
The hum of the road.
The joy of the moment.
The satisfaction of miles behind.
The anticipation of adventure ahead.
Astoria – Forks – Beaver – Cape Flattery
Sol Duc – Lake Crescent – Port Angeles
No music this year.
No Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Alice.
Instead, the rhythmic
meditative hum of
tires on pavement.
Bait and Tackle.
Guns and Ammo.
Discarded boats wedged between tree stumps.
Hulls fed upon like carrion
dissolving under the weight of the sun
with no water to coax them back to life.
Around and around.
Mile after mile
we follow the shape of the shore
and trace memories in our minds.