We swam, shedding our rings and tucking them into tiny hideaway crevices, should they decide to free fall off of our fingers into the clear cold.
The small.
The sacred.
Isn’t that what the days that stick out in our minds are most often made up of?
Sleeping underneath the heavy cloak of the brisk arresting air, unhindered by ceilings, the shushing of HVAC units, general beeps or digital lights that we are never able to quite fully emit from dreamland.
It’s so much cooler here than back home. So much so that we felt as though we had transcended seasons.
That, coupled with the simplicity of it all— a kind of coming home.
Of meandering unstructured time associated with an ease that precedes a peaceful and simple joy.
Wanting to incorporate such simplicity into the every day of back home but somehow never quite getting there.
If only it could be as it always is, on The Road.
