three thousand summers

I wake up early after freezing all night long. As I drive down main street I catch sight of an illuminated sign reading, "+18 degrees F". Warm for this early, unseasonably so. Yesterday, despite the month, I walked around town for a bit in a t-shirt, squinting from the sun. The weather here catches me off guard. As a child of the northwest my winters have always been dark and damp; evergreens and moss and rain storms for months without reprieve.
The first time I ever really visited the desert, apart from family trips as a child, was with N. Driving due south from Seattle we headed for Joshua Tree National Park. The pace of this adventure allowed me to appreciate the subtle changes in terrain as we crossed through the mountains in Oregon, then California. A dry winter became such a novelty, something to daydream about as I languished in my Seattle sorrows.

The time has come to set out on the road again. I am nervous, as always. My solo travels make me aware of how small I am within the greater context of the world. This is something that I love to be reminded of- as sometimes it is easy to feel as though the entire world could be held in the palm of one's hand. Traveling alone makes me reach out to other people, forces me to interact in some small way, makes me braver. I learn to trust my instinct. I learn what I really like. Off to CO for a week, then to the Denver airport. Almost time.