My wife and I have been driving for two weeks: Joseph, OR. The Black Canyon of the Gunnison River. Fort Collins, Colorado. Yellowstone. Camping along the way: Southern Idaho. Eastern Utah. At the bottom of the Black Canyon. On a street outside our nephew’s apartment building. In the boondocks of northern Colorado, eastern Idaho and eastern Oregon. Home day before yesterday.
Ride of Silence yesterday evening. I coordinated and led, seeking a still place inside me below the details of pace and regrouping.
I must have found it, because this morning I feel it every time I seek it. Just as still and sure as ever. But this time the still place has bumps and jiggles, with a sensation of traveling.