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it's like a room full of pictures.

[neil young]

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damn it all. i'm just going to disappear.

[susan]

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i think driving through the west is my natural habitat. if i never hear another person talk about spirit animals ever that would be okay by me, but if i had one it would be a salmon. we both just know where to go, and it's always by way of rivers.

when i stay in one place too long, i can't seem to remember what i am. my laughter feels strange. the mornings start to feel cold. and nothing makes me bolt like cold mornings.

but when i'm flying through the desert, through the woods, through the mountains, i can feel the force of myself again. she waits for me just outside the city limits, eating peaches and waving at strangers.

when i get out the air smells different so i start remembering things. i braid my hair and bring cherries for the road and wear my six-feet-tall chainsaw boots. my housemate told me once that he only pays attention to posture, not height, which sounds true. then again, he's shorter than me.

i don't plan, because the best way to go is to go. everywhere there are wonderful people, and they give me everything i need. what they can't give me they tell me where to find, and i find it. i sleep outside and when i wake in the morning, on a sand dune overlooking the coast, or in a silent stand of trees, i am like a goddess, the last thing sculpted by the hand of the deathless Divine.

when i go west, everything is new. this solitude is sacred. i have never in my life been less lonely. i never so inhabit my strength, my beauty. who is this woman, i wonder, coming out of the wilderness. leaning on her beloved.