The wanderlust is upon me, like the weight of a pack on my back.

shoot-60A few weeks ago, I tweeted that I was afraid to walk to work that morning. I was sure I’d walk past the office, aim myself in a random direction, and just keep walking, and walking, and walking. At some point, I’d run in to an ocean, and have to figure out what to do to keep moving then. I would have time to think about it, before I got there.

I haveĀ  had to stay close to home during most of the past year. The only travels I took were to bury family. It was dark, and I had crisscrossed most of the continent under low clouds and dreary wet. The only thing that kept me sane was the travel. The joy of changing at least where I was, the possibility that the places I went through and to would be better. The wanderlust made me hopeful, gave me something to look forward too. And in the end, it did change me, and make me whole.shoot-58

And so the winter recedes again. The snow retreats up the mountains, the water roars down, and wanderlust is upon me again like a constant weight of a pack. Every day I check the weather, and look up high. I want to be in the lonely places again. The mountain boarding houses, the railroad trestles, the mine shafts, the empty echoing places. I want to crisscross the country under a blue sky and in beauty, listening to steel wheels on steel rails and looking in the windows of quiet houses in the middle of farm land late at night as the train passes.

The wanderlust is upon me. I must go.

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