Response Crafting

When you drive cross country

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driveThe world spreads out around you, stretching forward and back and stretching into the edges of an infinite horizon.

The world exists in tones of beige and whites and grays and greens; the world is a fraction of these things, a fuzzy line, beneath the vastness of a blue, blue sky.

The world is hot outside, the sun beats down and washes out the color of everything it touches. The world is cold outside; the frost works its way up post beams and broken trees.

The world is raining outside. I watch the water skim the passenger-side window, rushing in diagonal lines along the glass. The world is snowing, and I watch the snowflakes rush toward us as we rush into them, our car and the snow colliding headfirst, over and over, along the highway. I watch the sun set three or four or more times, seeing it collapse behind the horizon, caught between the clouds, and then reappear again as we drive up and over a hill. The world is suspended in time and yet infinite and evolving, as we drive.

In my mind, there is very little as great as a good road trip. Living in Chicago with our dog, we make several treks back home to Denver every year, typically driving the sixteen hours with our dog rather than flying without him. It is, really and truly, one of my favorite simple pleasures of my life.


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