sTORIES FROM THE
CENTER OF THE STORM
discovering joy in every molecule
I find that bright things like to talk to each other.
I meet Carol at my first gas up on a my first solo trip. He’s ninety if he's a day, and he's buying black coffee for a quarter. While waiting in line at a tiny gas station just before the Blue Ridge Parkway, we fall into easy chatting. He looks at the helmet in my arms and I tell him I’m taking my first long ride, we both peer out the window at my Very Creatively packed bike.
I can feel myself pulsating with the special thrill-terror that accompanies any First Stepping towards a brand new, I love this, I want this kind of dream thing.