Six Hits The Road

I realized, as I was sitting reading my book, that what I really didn't want was to spend another sunny Autumn day here, inside my little box. I wanted to get out somewhere, do something.

My life is spent in a larger box, my travels normally bounded to the north by Vancouver, to the south by Portland. In my mind, there is nothing to the west but water, death by cold and wet and green; nothing to the east but desert, death by sun and rock and sand and bleached white bone. I've broken out of that box a few times, but not many, throughout my life.

Today, I wanted, really, sun on my skin; to be out somewhere in desert and scrublands, to stretch out on a rock like a big lizard and drink in sunlight. I wanted to touch the death that waits in the east and come back.

I decided that what I wanted was to go to Eastern Washington.

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