65 mph, headed home.

Long day, 9 hours; most of them spent in a black, cushy chair, gazing at a black, square screen.

Across my lap and arm, streaks of sunlight hover and flicker. As if to match the lethargic country song drifting from the radio, the tires hum on the baking asphalt.

I have reached the end of National Park boundaries and Ponderosa pines. A new redolence suffuses the air. Meadow, lots of it; vibrant, seductive greens. Flat planes, flecked with Dandelions, dissected by brimming streams. Elephantine cows muddling through clipped blades of grass; chewing, chewing, chewing.

One week till Kate is due, I think.
One day until I'm off work for the weekend, I think.

"Are you gonna kiss me, or not? Are we gonna do this or what? I think you know I like you a lot, I think we've got a real good shot... are you gonna kiss me, or not?"
... Oh Kix96.

The barn has deteriorated, is nearly gone but for the long hours and sweat put into it; things like that aren't forgotten easily. The General Store says it's open. They've even got their fresh donuts.

One morning I'll come get one of those before work, I think.

To my left, my old house; my old ponderous Ponderousa pine trees that "paint with all the colors of the wind"*...

One of these days I'll go back into those woods and find our old fort, I think.

One of these days, I think.

The hairs on my arm raise; back into the woods on the other side of the meadow. Through the stop signs that are "more like guidelines anyway."**

One of these days I'll actually stop, I think.

Blinker; wait as a car whizzes passed. No more ruts as I enter the driveway.

One of our neighbors must have filled those in, I think.

Up the driveway, back into the sun. I step out of the car and smell the engine, delirious and disgruntled.

One of these days I'll go the posted 45mph, I think.

Pat on the car door. Crunch through the gravel and up the steps to meet the dogs. They whine and lick and sniff and bounce around as if I'd been gone for centuries. A scratch behind the ear for each.

One more scratch, I say.

Home. Tea on the table in my uniform with my dad in his uniform.

One of these days we'll get a picture together in our park uniforms, I think.

How was your day? I say.
Good, he says.
What did you do? I say.
A lot of stuff, he says. Cleaned the bathrooms, did some paperwork, went and collected stuff from the campground, made a firewood sign.
Pretty productive, I say?
Yeah, he says.
Good, I say.

We sit and drink, eat our grapes and soak in the orange light.

That's good, I think. This is all so very good.








*Pocahontas song reference.
**Pirates of the Caribbean quote.