Trail blazing
August 10, 2010 at 21:42 On my recent visit to Indiana, I had 1,300 miles to remember how good it feels to get in the car and drive, to take my own trip, to make it on my own terms.
For so many years I've been riding shotgun while my man took the wheel and charted our course. So many years when my heart didn't have the strength to take me far on my own. So many years when fear meant I didn't dare venture too far.
This time I was in the driver's seat taking my car through the maze of highways, ramps, traffic, and false starts and stops around Washington, D.C.
Through the sharp turns and hard climbs of the Allegheny Mountains, where the road cut through millennia of stone.
Through the tired towns, past the crumbling, soot-stained bricks that were the last century's industrial centers.
Into the flatlands, where the road ran straight as a preacher's part, cutting neatly through acres of cornfields under acres of blue sky. Past stubby churches and giant crosses reaching toward flat-bottomed clouds.
Jesus country.
***
The dog is thrilled to see me when I arrive home five days later. He is barking and racing in circles, unable to outrun or catch his joy.
"He obviously missed you. I fed him and walked him but he made me crazy. He won't walk where you want him to walk, he's got to walk where HE wants to walk. He harassed me all day! I'd feed him and I'd walk him and he always wanted more."
"He's just looking for the Big Love," I say in a soft voice, bending down low and kissing the top of his sweet doggie head, rubbing his silky ears, looking into his big brown eyes.
"I gave him attention, it was just never enough. He always wanted more."
I am the only one that understands this need. This is MY dog. He is all heart.
***
There's a letter from my daughter in the mail, and she tells us about the hikes she's been taking at camp, up the mountains of my home county.
As she describes all the scratches and bruises on her legs, I remember my first boyfriend, one who never wanted to follow a trail, who made his own path, who took me into the rough and showed me his own favorite places--mountain views and caves and waterfalls.
To stay together and keep from getting lost, I followed him down steep terrain where my footing wasn't sure. I fell again and again and again.
I want to tell my daughter where I've been and what I know about the safety of the trail vs. the joy and perils of venturing off it into the deep green shady places, the secret swimming holes, the high ridges, the impossibly dark caves.
Oh, I know. I know about the ones who will not let the trail tame them. I know what it's like to get dirty. What it's like to get sweaty and not care. And what it's like to follow a boy, fall hard, and get hurt over and over again.
On our first date, her father and I were stone-hopping, crossing a river. I was surprised because he kept turning back to check on me, offering a steadying hand. I still remember the strength and warmth of his grip, the way he pulled me to him so effortlessly.
***
Tonight I'm waiting for Perseus to rise in the moonless sky and for the night to deepen. I want to see the Perseids, a meteor shower caused by debris from a long ago comet. When Earth travels through the wide swath of fragments and dust, they disintegrate in flashes of light.
In the dark hours before dawn, I hope to see fireballs making their mark, blazing their own trails across the sky, burning, burning, burning as they pass above me, above my house, above all the people and places I love.
Reader Comments (14)
The joys that occur in our everyday lives are the bright threads we'll always pick up looking back through the weave of time.
How can I see a larger image?
V. Do you sell your art?
If you click on "Art of Life Gallery" in my navigation bar, you can view my artwork, most of which is less "artwork" and more cards and art journal pages. They're posted chronologically, so you can see my progress over the years. Note that there's more than one page of thumbnails in some of the galleries and those pages you don't see first include my latest work.
If there's something you particularly like, let me know and I'll see about getting it to you. : )
I ditto Susan: Not sure which is more beautiful...your post or the fact that I am able to read it. :)
Nance, that would have been fun. My son traveled with me, and I think he would have fit right in at the Department.
Chris, I want to meet you too. Maybe I'll do a Western road trip with the kids next summer.