The Road Calls

by goatlove

It had been a fantasy to write in the desert this winter.  A dream concocted by my subconscious to help me through the more challenging days on the farm.

When I looked back at my sustenance list and thought about The Collector’s travels to Haiti I realized that helping people is something I crave far beyond solitude.  Taking a month to write felt downright selfish to me.  And so I started to reconsider my options.

I don’t think I would have considered going as far as I ended up deciding to travel, but a visit from a dear friend, my city mouse, around this time pushed me beyond state and even country borders.  Our visit was profound and our parting emotional, though only in the solitude of our own minds.

My emotions and fears felt too big to navigate and so the road called as it does in those times.  The need to feel the earth in motion beneath me as I move.  The direction doesn’t matter because when you’re either running from something or trying to find yourself, any direction is forward, and so you give yourself the illusion of progress.

Leaving City Mouse tucked in bed in a cozy B ‘n’ B in Bar Harbor, I chased the sun back to Jonesboro as it rose from the dawn fog blanketed over Route 1.  That day I spent my break on the farm browsing volunteer opportunities in Africa and dreaming of throwing everything into the Camry and disappearing from here forever.

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