Nomadic. Storyteller. Soul searcher. Experience hungry. Music carnivore. Dreamer of better things.
The ashes of American Flags (part two)
The communities quickly turned from self sustaining entities to wood cabins and ghost towns. Not from Capitalism over taking good natured business, but from the elements of time.
Something that affects all of us, eventually.
I see the last remnants of something that was started in the late 19th century, when the pioneering spirit and the dream to live one’s life on terms you set was a truth many sought, and most obtained. A place where you can raise a family in safety, or shack up in solitude and survive off the land around you.
There are still those that have made peace out here in middle America, and are content with this idea of freedom. A mom and pop motel on the high desert plain. A fruit grove nestled in the canyon. An antique store that holds cherished wonders.
I find artistic lightning striking everywhere as I sit in the earth and ponder the journey thus far….
I’m about halfway, and with quickly diminishing daylight, I don the aviator goggles, and continue down the empty road.