predator
Very Active Member
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Not sure where or when it began, just as I'm equally unsure where this pavement leads; my thoughts wander with the curve of painted asphalt. I drive on, playing with my wandering mood like a new ball of clay; new shapes around each bend, new ideas on each straightaway, destroyed by tne next switchback. Restlessly grumbling at each familiar trailhead, each favorite canyon, I yearn for the taste of spring rain upon aspen leaves from trees whose trunks point accusingly at the thunderheads, the rich aroma of pine and soil and wildflowers. My feet literally ache to feel the new green grass underneath as I pause once or twice and ponder a new ridge route or streambed crossing. Desperately seeking solace from concrete and steel, I strain nervously to catch a whisper of wind or a babbling brook here and there, but the connection is lost between the metal doors of the truck.
Desperately seeking renewal and failing miserably, I turn home after 300 miles, leaving what I love behind. Unable to even think about walking down that trail or around that tree, I seek solace in strong drink and good books...........and feel so empty.
Desperately seeking renewal and failing miserably, I turn home after 300 miles, leaving what I love behind. Unable to even think about walking down that trail or around that tree, I seek solace in strong drink and good books...........and feel so empty.
