After a trying day, I fled to the land reserve near our house. I sat on a rock at the base of a cliff, overlooking a meadow of swaying grasses, enclosed by the silhouette of a scrubby tree-line. A pair of hawks glided overhead in the darkening blue, spiraling in lazy arabesques. As I watched them, I envied their serenity, and the serenity of the land, as the cool gray twilight covered the earth with its mist, inviting you as you are; blurring away your imperfections with the last fingers of sunlight. I watched them, wrestling with my own uncertainties and insecurities, coming to no conclusion, only that the birds were lovely in their dance, and that I hope to someday dance so gracefully.

My wanderlust has set in with some intensity. It comes spontaneously, and over the past year I would jump in my car and drive to Dallas, or hop on a plane to Albuquerque, without much warning or telling anyone. Now with airfare as it is, I’m planning to go to Albuquerque in September when it’s cheaper, and Laura is no longer in Dallas. Yet the need for escape remains. The three day weekend of next week’s holiday comes with perfect timing, but I have no destination. “Anywhere but here” is where, this time? I’ve gotta get out of this town, if only for a couple days. Still thinking. Maybe I’ll just get in my car and drive…