I almost didn't get out of my car yesterday. My drive to work is bar none the best part of my day. The mountains are as green as I imagine the highland hills of Scotland to be, without ever having seen an actual picture. Kris burned Death Cab for Cutie, and one track has lyrics about driving down a country road with the windows down smelling the scent of the evergreens through the open window. It fits. I play it four times in a row. Out my window I can see the hilltop above the Naches. I want to forget work and climb to the top, lay down in the grass up to my neck and watch the clouds pass by. The sun beats down for the first time after three days of rain. If I weren't driving I'd be able to smell earth and wildflowers.
At work I listen to the acoustic coffeehouse station. There are some obvious singers; Rufus Wainright, Dido, Norah Jones. Someone called the Recliners sings a terrible ballad version of I Wanna Be Sedated. I make a list of songwriters and bands to try to find.
An SUV drives up and parks. A matched set of black labs stick their heads out the window and sniff in parallel. I wonder what they sense on the air. I want to be out there.
At every hint of the sun I run out from behind my cage and go to my window. From the bar all I can see is the rock face above the highway. I hang onto the windowframe and lean in until my nose almost touches the glass and I can see to the top of the cliff and catch a glimpse of sky. Bits of fluff drift down the highway from right to left. Funny. The clouds go left to right. What currents are the fluff balls catching?
My itchy wanderlust has taken over again. I knew I shouldn't have read A Year in the World immediately after Tales of a Female Nomad.
I must go.