Dreams

Oh, to be on the road in my car, alone, music playing, the miles streaming by my window as I head into the distance. Maybe storm clouds will be gathering in front of me and I'll be a witness to the lightening striking, to the rain coming down in sheets. Or perhaps it will already be fall and the fields of milo and corn will have turned red and dry in the autumn chill, and the flocks of sparrows will flow and twist their way through the sky. Or spring will be rolling around again and the trees will be just shading into green, more and more as I head east and down in elevation, flowers springing from the ground bidden by the sun. 

Regardless of the season, I love to make my

 way across America, through the barrenness of eastern Colorado, the bread basket that is Kansas, and into the rolling hills and small farms of Missouri. Even better to then turn north and head into Iowa, the amazing order of the Amish communities, the beauty of the corn rows as they flit by the window, the red barns, the tractors rolling slowly down the shoulder. 

Would that I had the money to head out, not having to measure gas, food, miles, hotels, dollars. Someday, maybe, I'll have that freedom. Ah, to dream!