The banded tail of an armadillo disappearing into a bush at the first rest stop in Texas, and Scooter's confused pulling.
The truest tacos in the land, from a food truck in Houston, with cilantro and onions and only $2.
The sky I woke to in Indianapolis, and the morning scent of growth in the garden.
The glass of sangria, rich and cold in my hand, against the couch's intoxicating softness.
The slip of Scooter's fur as he ran past and into the grasses higher than his knees.
The breeze only found atop Mount Oread, gazing beyond the stadium to the haze of Kansas fields.
The turkey on focaccia, greenest stems of daisies, flat tire donut, essence of loved books in Aggieville.
The quiet of 4am, made quieter by a leaving.
The difficulty of drinking hot water.
The pull of speed on flat roads.
The laugh of my mother.
The sweat dripping.
The hugs, all.
No comments:
Post a Comment