Monday, April 29, 2013

End of Days: A Sunset Chaser

First kayak ride of the season. It was cold, wet and windy and my eyes were like two swollen blobs in the middle of my face the next morning, but it was entirely worth it. My body was drenched in the just above freezing water but we stayed at it for hours, listening to some good-feeling tunes, paddling harder when the cold threatened to outweigh the fun, warily watching dark clouds creeping over the skies, and chasing the sun as it settled into the horizon. 

Bring on the summer. 

Monday, April 22, 2013

The Gentle Reprieve


I've managed to get a small reprieve recently and lose myself in the wandering, nameless roads of the midwest countryside. Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri --  the large stretches of untouched land are peaceful and calming. It's so much easier to be present and self-aware when you get away from everything...if only because the stars are more blinding and all-consuming.

There's something about the south that just tugs at my heartstrings. If it weren't for the heat, I would've scattered there by now but alas, I'm a creature of the winter and summer heat is suffocating and dense enough in the north, I'm sure the south would eat me alive. But I'll never say no to a road trip through the deep-fried, double-baked charm of the south. If you have a problem with patience, there's no better way to learn than the lands of molasses and honey, where familial conversation with strangers fill the long waits and the clock ticks just a little slower. People are cool at first, but get them going and they're like a freight train that takes many miles to bring to a stop. The smell of burning tobacco lingers around the local watering holes, a taboo habit in the urban sprawl -- an everyday comfort in the rural stretches. A sea of flannel and pickup trucks, not a pretentious display of hipsterdom, but a practical choice for a man who lives by his heart instead of his head. The rural worker -- a timeless fixture in our society and the muse of pure functionalism.

I'm fast in love with the slow countryside...

I have a theory that one's heart must be fickle if they love to travel. It must be eager and naive, impulsive and starved... because these moments are fleeting and can only be enjoyed if you leave your heart open with the knowledge that it must be broken when you leave.
And that the only way to mend a broken heart is to travel and love again. 

Your country bumpkin,