We were afraid to even ask anymore. Any query into our ETA, the next meal time, or if we could stop to pee again was met with a stern look in the rearview. Silence took the place of “Don’t make me pull this car over” and “If you ask again we’re turning around and going back home.” Mom would turn gently smiling and tell us to relax and enjoy the scenery.
The mystique of the headlights in sacred space.
Not sure the why or what of the entire situation, but it has definitely arrived at its tipping point.
And so went the Poppins gal. Umbrellas, though great for traveling the rooftops of London town, conduct electricity far too well in thunderstorms.
Little did we know, our efforts to stop the expansion would be met with a hysteria not seen in years.
Flowing form, from one spectrum to the next. Paralleled through plains of light running into a mystery.
Scrabbling for a shred of inspiration other than a photograph from my windshield.
Recycling it again.
Caged in a rage.
Scrape the rust and years of decay from the valve of your heart. Break the chains and locks that bind your. Let your love flow forth. Flood the land with generosity and kindness. Wage war on hate and ambivalence. Empathy toward all, malice toward none.
