Waking up, you don’t know where you are. Also? It doesn’t matter. But the urge to pull back the heavy curtain is strong because everywhere turns out to be somewhere and that’s exciting. Out the window are icy branches, a couple cinder blocks covered in frozen, damp leaves and just beyond, a parking lot. Nothing special, and yet…some chemical in your bloodstream, some neuron firing, tells you it’s special anyway. Neurons know best.
Sweet, oily motel coffee is presided over by some big, nice ladies, always. Morning is a universal phenomenon, whether we all feel good or lousy. You feel good, though, ’cause music got played last night and they feel good ’cause they’re big, nice ladies.
Outside is cold. Air is a universal phenomenon, too. We’re all in it together.
Your loved ones are in the van already, sleepy and funny. A noisy peace kicks in. Out the window, you race away from one city and race into the next. It’s exhilarating. Nobody could catch you even if they wanted to and they’re not even trying ’cause you’re invisible and invisible is perfect today.
It’s all perfect right now; this is your perfect day. No soul is ever measured by the love of those who don’t know it, love as numbers. The numbers that are so wildly hunted breeze in and breeze out, pale and fail. Duh-uh. Which is why we work for each other, and why we love that about each other and why we race past another icy field, great glass stalks, bending and straightening.