One day, we’ll just drive. We won’t know where we’re going, and if there’s any destination at all, we’ll never know if we get there. Every thing we pass will be a notch on the bedpost, a stepping stone, a friendly, traveler’s greeting. And then, maybe we’ll just stop. Park. Decide this is where we’re supposed to be.
Maybe it’ll be in the middle of the country with a field on one side and an empty dirt road on the other. I wonder if the sky will be bright above us, whispering in our ears with sunshine. As it tickles, we’ll let it cover us with thoughts, cocoon us in time, swallow us whole. I’ll hope that you speak, and I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.
When we’re finished, if we ever know that we are finished, we’ll leave, dripping a trail behind us.
