Earlier this week I was driving home from work, and as I went over the crest of a hill I could see up ahead an old red pick-up truck, pulled off to the side of the road. Since returning to Vermont from Boston, I've have this idealize image of what it is to live here, and as I drove closer to the truck, I was thinking about how lucky I was to live in this perfect state. It was dusky, and the humidity was subsiding. There was someone in the truck, at first all I could see was this large grey beard -and I thought about how much I had missed those large beards- I could see it was an old man, and there was an old woman with him, and as I drove even closer, I could see they were making out. Right there on the side of the road.
Vermont is a cruel mistress; She lures you in with her natural beauty, and then flashes her hideous c-section scar at you.
I immediately resented the fact that there was no one in my car to share that experience with. And so, perhaps as a form of healing, I'll record it here.
There is so much more than I resent, but healing takes time.
No comments:
Post a Comment