10.15.06 - 8:56 a.m.

I flew to New Mexico last week for the desert rain and returned to Victoria for the London fog. In between I watched movies with my Mom, walked around, found an actual closed-down wild west saloon in one of the smallest towns I've ever scuffed my shoes in, and tacos.

Winding through all that nothing in a green Camry, I slid the dial over to "outside air" the first day and breathed deeply of the high-elevation nowhere. But the smell of damp books started sliding through the vents one by one. So far from the ocean and trees and held down by nothing, I felt sure the people in that car were living off what was left of the fine Victoria atmosphere trapped in the threads of my clothes.

Another day the hot pink clouds looked like they were streaking around a circular racetrack in the sunset.

But the main attraction proved to be the 4 airports each way. My visceral response to touching down in the States this time (shitty Phoenix, Arizona) was to burst into tears. Instead I bit my lip and strode through the spooky gaggles of overweight Southwestern American land-lubbers.

I found the hidden majesty in that very place 4 days later, though. The Phoenix takeoff runway is pretty much inseparable from a highway interchange. Cars rushed below and alongside on their own separate tracks until we were ready to rumble away. In the clouds the sun was starting to set, and I rode on the Eastside. A small plane-shaped shadow inside a circular rainbow was cast on the cotton balls right outside my window whenever a gap in the clouds on the other side let the light in. I wanted to applaud. Maybe even as much as everyone did for live-music-Nosferatu last night.

see< >saw

i whisper hello to everything