-

and a small voice whispered

get ready, it's coming

-

Honestly, I just want life to be like Fandango. I want canyons and desert highways and a corner of the universe where all roads lead to Big Bend. I want old cars filled with old friends and paperbacks and cheap beer coolers. I want twilight in Marfa, sleeping outside at that in-between, middle-space time of night, when the sky is that entirely unearthly shade of blue.

I want running away. I want leaving everything and starting over. I want new, strange adventures and unfamiliar places to have them in. I want the air to smell different. I want the ocean, I want the old bones and clear roads of a farm, I want a rotation of road-trip dresses branded with that earth-sweat smell. I want to sleep out on clear nights, and on the rest I want to throw a tent and let that musty patter take me away. I always sleep deepest when the rain comes. I want to drink in that night smell, soak it up with my pores, my palms, the soles of my feet.

I want to dance with a  dusty bandana and hunt out a taqueria long abandoned to the coyotes. I want to drive until I'm out of gas, then walk, then crash a wedding. I want to move and live in ways I'll remember later.