Restless
Here I am, grinding the stone. I want to be outside walking on a day like today. Crisp and gray. Cold enough for sweater and scarf. Smells of dry, fallen leaves. What I need is a good long walk along some deserted railroad tracks.
When I was a little one I wanted to be a hobo when I grew up.
The idea of travelling from place to place on pilfered train cars holds a mysticism to this day. A code. A way of speaking that society at large doesn't understand and never will. That whole now cliched 'On the Road' magic.
I hitch-hiked throughout highschool. Building stone signposts on the sides of roads. A language its own.
Why do I always feel the need to journey this time of year? Honestly it would make no sense to leave for anywhere on some kind of epic journey this close to winter. Yet it calls... senseless as it is.
When I was a little one I wanted to be a hobo when I grew up.
The idea of travelling from place to place on pilfered train cars holds a mysticism to this day. A code. A way of speaking that society at large doesn't understand and never will. That whole now cliched 'On the Road' magic.
I hitch-hiked throughout highschool. Building stone signposts on the sides of roads. A language its own.
Why do I always feel the need to journey this time of year? Honestly it would make no sense to leave for anywhere on some kind of epic journey this close to winter. Yet it calls... senseless as it is.