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I still could not see the land! This time it was not the granite, tree laden cliffs that were obscuring the land and sky but highway cones, detour signs and telephone poles. Thin spikes jutting up against the sides of highways and railroad tracks; the occasional dusty windblown house of unknown residence surrounded by bushes grown up against its sides. The sky, today not startling blue outlined by a rimmed white horizon, but by gray stretching side to side. The only relief being the different shades in puffs and streaks of smaller drifts wondering where to go and what to do. Only the soil was red. Red soil that stretched ahead and around what seemed a bleak and unforgiving tunnel. Road noise reminded us that we rolled along, supported by black rubber tires to worn gray asphalt, matching the interior of this rental, Silver Grand Am. Car and land covered by nature’s gray damp blanket. Road tar was the aroma on this leg of the trip not the smell of freshly turned red spring soil. I am longing for green, blue, yellow, orange. Hot sun or cool night breeze. Deep dark sky, stars punched out of the velvet fabric in patterns of myths. Swaths of galaxies. Ah, a hint of blue breaks in the skies ahead. Closing quickly, it may only have been a mirage born of the dream I am caught in.
There is one other thing I that I’ve not yet spoken of: Rock! Rock music! Fitting in this strange place. And, looking up, I see that roadsides bordering fields are showing green hints and hues promising that this gray, wide tunnel will open to the grandeur of the West Texas plains. And now a plowed red field preparing the tiny seedlings resting to be later born into cotton? No. The sign we just passed said: Peanuts!
I do hope you enjoy this little bit of West Texas. I know that, while writing this out, editing a wee bit here and there ~ especially when I couldn’t read my writing or understand a sentence ~ put me back on that Road to El Paso.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.”
~ Martin Buber
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