Nostalgia

Lately, I’ve been nostalgic.
Maybe it’s because my dad sold his truck, his Chevy Silverado, the one that hauled us cross country two years in a row. I spent hours in the back seat, the front seat, day-dreaming, journaling, texting, watching landscape transform from green to gold to grey to orange, red, and pink, and finally to the mysterious blueishgreenishshimmer of the Pacific ocean. Through those windows I saw terror: tornadoes, and magic: ethereal Yosemite Valley, golden fields of wildflowers, thunderstorms over the Grand Canyon. It’s okay, truck, that you got two flat tires in Kentucky. I am going to miss you and all you did for me.
See the world’s colors, if you can: let them wash the dust off of your soul.
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