still i drive

i drive the wide arizona surface streets. it's only 85 degrees today, in new july. a departure from desert summer. through my windshield i see jutting hills - purple and perfect on the eastern horizon. mountains close in and surround this yawning valley of heat and people.

this sky is full slate - brooding gray at 1pm on a wednesday. the time isn't really significant, more a marker in my mind to separate the time between when i felt fine and now, when i don't.

physically, nothing of note is wrong with me. but a blackening sky and kick of wind has pushed me into contemplation. yesterday's demons and today's loss of hope written on a paper top and spun into my manic brain.

twirling.
twirling.
twirling.

i press the accelerator, lean into the curve, and it's 6 months later in virginia's january. it was 75 degrees in the mid-atlantic this past saturday reminding me that arizona followed me to this green state of rain and sprawling suburbs.

the streets here are lined with trees not fully dormant in this unusually warm winter. spring buds threaten to break free of the branches and the baby birds who are born too soon and will die in the snow that will surely come in late march.

i'm angry about a lot of things - more than the surface anger of someone cutting me off or the annoyances of being overworked. it's an anger without regard to consequences - a hopeless one born of being ordinary with the want of something more. it is nearing despair.

still, i drive these roads through sunlight, rain, and pinkish dusk. in my car, and heart, i am solitary - looking for a twist of road, an adventure to find what I've lost.