Long dirt roads, seemingly never ending in the heartland of America, are my traveling companion on a lazy weekend afternoon.

The tranquility of endless corn fields, lone farm houses and sun light warm me like a fuzzy blanket as I drive to nowhere in particular, searching for the sweet resting spot.
I find a field that has a small open grassy area in between the high corn stalks. A small stream is making it’s way West towards the setting sun. Crickets are alive and singing, and a family of raccoons are rustling and chatting, just beyond my sight.
I pull out my harmonica and begin to play.
Freedom exists when no one is around to listen. I jam to my own sound, dance and sway to the notes that float up into the blue October sky.
I lean back on a haystack and tap my toes to the rhythm…..
until the skies turn from blue to purple and orange, eventually fading to black. Stars comes out to comfort the lone wanderer as I hop back into my car, no one the wiser.
Except the family of raccoons.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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