The Vignettes
Walk with me down the trail.
For two years, we lived in a tent trailer while traveling the American West. To document the kind of adventure I’d never have again, I told our stories through weekly vignettes.
We’ve left the RV life for now, but still continue to recount adventure’s ups and downs, our relationship with the outdoors, the wonderful disaster of parenting, and the struggle to catch lightening in the creative bottle.
The Fruited Desert
The town was originally called Junction, but a place that holds improbability should have a little more zing. It’s a rare example of good rebranding.
Earth Hiccups
When it gets smaller maybe it’s distilled into something more powerful. By the time it makes it back to earth it’s in the purest form. There are wonders littered on the mountainsides here, colorful and whimsically shaped.
If the Devil Had a Garden
Maybe there was a thread of recognition that passed between us, our paths having crossed before, and that’s why I noticed it. Admiring its reflection in a once-shiny chrome motorcycle gas tank.
The Vanishing 29th
It’s a day that does exist consistently but intermittently; it comes along every four years only to go into hiding afterwards. Maybe that’s why it’s fresh enough to perform the re-alignment. To do Atlassian work but with a four-year breather.
Color in the Growth
Before it seems possible, feasible, or wise, it’s sending out new growth. Those branches are smooth and shiny with a hint of optimism. They reach directly for what they want – the sky – and their path is straight.