Once upon a time, this blog was going to be all about my pet bird, when I got one. But I never did get that bird. So, now this blog is about the beautiful, curious things that keep me in a near-constant state of happy distraction. Ironically, many people find these writings when they wonder what "peristerophobia" means. It's a fear of pigeons. I've made a bird blog after all.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Driving home, illuminated.
Herewith, my visual record of yesterday's drive. I think that prose of substance will resume tomorrow. (To follow along with your map, start in Amherst, VA. Follow 60-E to Cumberland, VA, observing disused buildings all along the way. Turn around and go back to square one. Then, follow 60-W over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Buena Vista ("Boona Vista"), VA. Take I-81 north to I-64 west. Follow I-64 past the fallen signs at the exit for the West Virginian "mall" that consists of a KMart, up more mountains and near mountaintop cloudcover, until you get to Charleston. Just after you see the gilded dome of the West Virginian state capitol building, swing north on I-77. Follow I-77 north into Ohio, breathing a strange sigh of relief to cross the river and reenter your own state, even though you experienced some serious doubts about living there, while you were away. Love the corn's extreme, stalky bordering of the highway. Love the fields of fog all around you. Love the quiet deer at the side of the road. Love the single firework that erupts silently up ahead, somewhere near the I-77 / I-70 interchange that alerts you to the fact that you're nearly home. Love the moon in the dark, as you always do, always, no matter where you are. Love the end of the drive in quiet and solitude, the camera gone quiet in your lap as you eat up the last miles home.)
Annie Dillard could have been writing about me when she said (of herself), "I like the slants of light; I'm a collector." Or Willem de Kooning: "I'm like a slipping glimpser." And don't forget Brenda Ueland: "I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten--happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another." But the Beastie Boys might have said it best: "When it comes to panache, I can't be beat." There's a reason I wear a ring that says Badass.