 |
| A beautiful morning in Arkansas, just because. |
 |
| Look at that face! You can't tell me she's not smiling. |
Now let me give you a little background. This is the dog that grew up in Florida. She hates getting a bath. She hates going to the beach. She won't go near the water. And she has never been much of a playful dog nor done much running around.
Since being in the big truck she has suddenly become my “all-terrain dog”.
“Are those the waves?!” I exclaimed as we came around a bend in the trail and the shrubbery opened up to the expanse of damp beach sand. He could only laugh at me, which is his usual reaction to my apparently amusing expressions upon discovering something new.
It's funny how a song can bring back memories so vivid it's like you experienced them only yesterday. One such song for me is “Boys of Summer” by Don Henley. The music and lyrics are very poignant and maudlin of days past, especially growing up in Florida and spending summers at the beaches. Those late summer evenings when the beaches empty early due to cooler weather is a sorrowful experience for us beach bound southerners, as it signaled the end of lazy sunny days and a return to school. Even now as an adult, no longer privy to they months-long, carefree, summertime breaks, the change in weather certain songs still bring about the strong feelings of those long-gone days of youth. Needless to say, driving down the highway, in January, in Idaho, the juxtaposition of warm summer nights with the chilly windy north was rather strong.
Earlier in the morning while having breakfast with a friend we found ourselves explaining what can only be described as a true “Southernism”.
 |
| Early morning fog along the Columbia River Gorge. |
I am not a morning person, not by a long shot. But on this particular morning the view outside our truck windows was well worth the waking up for. Coffee in hand I climbed into the front seat early (for me) as we started our trek across Oregon. We were on I-84 across the top of Oregon which follows the Colombia River and Gorge area – The Oregon Trail.
The other morning Allen woke me up with hot coffee and kisses. “Baby time to get up, we're near Flagstaff and I want you to see everything.” There at the truck stop I could see the mountain rising out of the flatland, sitting there like a snow-capped crown on a pillow of brown and green velvet. I took some pictures but it was still so far away.
When I was in the 5th grade my parents and I went on a two-week trip from Florida to Albuquerque, NM, with a short trip over to Flagstaff, Arizona. I don't remember much from that entire trip except the backseat of the Oldsmobile car my parents had at the time. You see, the morning we left they woke me up to leave, I took two steps into the garage to get in the car and threw up. And that was pretty much my entire trip. I spent it sick in the backseat.
I vaguely remember stops in Texas, in New Mexico at the Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, and even one day when my dad tried to take me snow skiing at Flagstaff, the mountain for which the city is named. The only thing I remember about that morning from so long ago is vomiting copious amounts of orange juice. It seemed more than any 9 year old little girl's body could ever possibly hold. My dad turned around and took me back to the hotel to stay with my mother. I don't even remember seeing the mountain, or snow, or anything.
Back to today, as Allen drove, I kept taking pictures. And driving and taking pictures...
When I was in the 5th grade my parents and I went on a two-week trip from Florida to Albuquerque, NM, with a short trip over to Flagstaff, Arizona. I don't remember much from that entire trip except the backseat of the Oldsmobile car my parents had at the time. You see, the morning we left they woke me up to leave, I took two steps into the garage to get in the car and threw up. And that was pretty much my entire trip. I spent it sick in the backseat.
I vaguely remember stops in Texas, in New Mexico at the Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, and even one day when my dad tried to take me snow skiing at Flagstaff, the mountain for which the city is named. The only thing I remember about that morning from so long ago is vomiting copious amounts of orange juice. It seemed more than any 9 year old little girl's body could ever possibly hold. My dad turned around and took me back to the hotel to stay with my mother. I don't even remember seeing the mountain, or snow, or anything.
Back to today, as Allen drove, I kept taking pictures. And driving and taking pictures...
>Have you ever seen a cloud making machine? I bet you have and you just didn't realize it.
The magic is hidden from the more jaded mind of most adults. Cloaked in innocence, only the innocent mind can see the beauty beneath the grime of the real world. In a magical place not to far away the world around us is buzzing with all sorts of magic. It's a place where children can grow up to teach the cows how to moo. It's a world where shoes grow on trees. It's a life filled with silver linings and pots of gold. It's a world where underneath the ugly is unimaginable beauty. And it all flourishes within the mind of a child and their unrestrained and untainted imagination.
Drive down any road around any city. Look through the haze and smog and try to see it through the eyes of a child.
The magic is hidden from the more jaded mind of most adults. Cloaked in innocence, only the innocent mind can see the beauty beneath the grime of the real world. In a magical place not to far away the world around us is buzzing with all sorts of magic. It's a place where children can grow up to teach the cows how to moo. It's a world where shoes grow on trees. It's a life filled with silver linings and pots of gold. It's a world where underneath the ugly is unimaginable beauty. And it all flourishes within the mind of a child and their unrestrained and untainted imagination.
Drive down any road around any city. Look through the haze and smog and try to see it through the eyes of a child.
