I long to be far away with my thoughts on a long stretched highway between tall pines breaking apart into yellow and ultramarine blue in my mind’s eye. I appreciate beauty in its primary form. I don’t ever feel that I fall short of my own shadow when light is all there is to tell a different story.
I didn’t want to let go of my father’s old Ford Thunderbird, because I still get excited about each time my long scarf flies through the sunroof, the accidental freedom, the sensation of unexpected wonder, and the unbidden joy.
I’d like to hold on to these long drives all the way to the top of the lookout, where your name always echoes deep in the Blue Mountains. The pine needles snow down in yellow and ultramarine blue flakes. When they land on the bottom of the mountain range, sometimes they pool into tranquil green, and sometimes sorrowful hazel.