Ponderosa Pine
Our bodies disappeared into the dark of the car. Engine reverberations, a feeling of conveyance, a road shocked white with headlight attentions. I always got so tired then--but never fell asleep, whether in some solidarity with the driver or the stars of Utah, I do not know. I watched the faces of my friends: light green cresent moons, invented upon the shape of their cheeks by the light of the instrument panel. Music played within the insulating sound of the dessert wind, and catching it with every low and sleepy breath, I could also take in the settled sweat and dirt upon our clothes. It smelled like it needed to smell. For the time being, the dusty sunlight and scratch of sandstone could relive itself in the while-away atmosphere of our little box, carrying us all home.
Sometimes we took breaks, for respiration, sometimes to camp for the night. If it didn't look like rain, we'd lay our pads right down in the dirt and brush. And bundled away into my bag, I'd watch the stars, and fall in love with them. All heartache dissolved.
