I got tagged. Supposedly, you're supposed to go into My Pictures, pick the sixth photo in the sixth file and blog about it. Participate at will and do it as you please... here is my attempt.
Sometimes I wish I had stats on things, such as the total number of days I've skied, rides I've hitched, hitchers I've picked up, how many times I've traveled some favorite stretches of highway. Etc.
This image is a snapshot of the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon at sunset last December, as I returned from my beloved Moab.
Over the past three years, I've traveled that road dozens of times. I've laughed, conversed, and even seen death over its painted lines. The surrounding vistas have stolen the breath from me, inspired thought, been grounding in their constancy, and given confidence during change.
I look back on some of the most whole, raw moments of my life, and recall the beauty of the west - the Tetons, the red desert, Montana forests, all viewed through a dusty, bug-encrusted windshield. Windows down, with no regard for the presence of rain, snow, gale force highway wind shrieking in and through the vehicle. The kind of heat that could melt cosmetic presence from my face in salty droplets and rise in blurry currents from the dashboard and hood for months, with no relief from a failing AC unit.
Unconcerned for the conditions, I'd sing loudly, sometimes savagely, lyrics of liberation. The acoustic accompaniment to some sunsets, sunrises kneading peace and contentment into wearied, taut musculature.
Dirtbag vagabonding has been a significant part of life as I've known it the past few years.