Misty day on the roadway. I was heading east on Hwy 84 out of Portland proper and suddenly I could feel my late husband in the cab of our beloved car. Funny presence: he was a tad too corporeal so he could be soft as down at the same time he was hard as rock. And musky. Always musky. A warm, but compassionately dry, cave. And I crawled in, every time. After he came along, I knew what was best for me.
What I wanted today was for our car to levitate off that asphalt, hold a 45- degree angle until we reached the skies and picked him up.
After all, there were holiday errands to do.
And we had a globe-eyed grandson to please.
A warm and dry cave… A place we can go… Warm. Dry. Salvation in a place of human consumption and greed. We may be the better people. But we may die with the natives. We may be dead already.
Are you connecting with the earth? Have you grown a tail? Perhaps today was a good day for us anyway.
I always imagined him at more of a 65 degree angle. Awkward at it’s best.