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and every breath we drew was hallelujah
An awful lot changes in twelve days. I came home to new flowers in the garden, a front door that was red instead of blue. I woke to noisy rain on the windows, heavy water dripping down the sky. It rained in South Dakota, and in Wyoming too, and in some other unremembered places on the way.
Although I did not allow myself sleep for long. Less than four hours. There is too much to do. It's remarkable, though, the dreams that can be had in so short a time.
I dream about people from ballet an awful lot. It's been years now. I suspect there is something unresolved, there.
But that is so beside the point. I am home. Twelve days, and it feels like forever. I feel kind of strange. On the way home from the airport last night - flying is an ordeal I'd rather not think about for another few years at least - it all hit me, so overwhelmingly, it took a minute to breathe again.
It's such a dream, such an old one, seeing so many places when my world has always been so simple and small. I dreamed of huge mountains and wide plains, of red rock and canyons and huge, huge sky - I thought it would mean something to finally see it all, but I don't think it means anything, not really.
I can say that I am amazed still at how beautiful this country is, how much open space there really is left. L and I drove from Syracuse to just north of Chicago the first day, which was fine but unthrilling. After that, though... I loved Wisconsin, but I loved Minnesota more, the flat prairies and the scattered farms, how strong the wind is there. South Dakota - what a strange place. Billboards from God every five miles, and an especially amusing one declaring that South Dakotans were against animal activism. A state with Rushmore and Badlands and Wall Drug as its only claims to fame. We didn't see Rushmore, but the Badlands were gorgeous, though they pale in my memory against the rest.
Wyoming, that huge, empty place. I don't know what to say about the Rockies, except that they were bigger and more frightening to me than anything I've seen before. I thought I'd love them. And in a way I did. But I was relieved, undeniably, to leave them behind. I understood at last why those Rocky states are as empty as they are - who could live so near something so perpetually overwhelming? There would be nothing left to wonder at. Nothing at all.
Idaho was odd. There really isn't much more to say about that, except that never have I driven so far on a road so empty. L and I went a little crazy for a while in that barren, barren place.
Utah, Utah, Utah. A shame it's so packed to the boundaries with Mormons, for I'm not sure I'll ever see a place more softly, starkly, quietly beautiful. It was hell up through Salt Lake City, actually, but everything after that I'd happily spend years exploring. As we neared Moab it all grew red; there just aren't words for how beautiful those sculpted formations of red rock are against a wide sky so blue it was nearly turquoise. L spent some time on her back beneath the curve of an arch; I believe she was communing with it. She was quite ecstatic over the geological significance of *everything* through the whole trip, I might add. Silly girl.
After Arches, a long beautiful drive south, into Navajo territory and what just might be, to me, the most spectacular view in all the world; the road to Monument Valley. I'd seen the pictures, of course, before, but there really isn't any subsitution for that moment when that landscape suddenly rises, the road narrowing off into the horizon. It was so fucking beautiful. I could never say that enough.
Arizona was nice. We did go to the Grand Canyon, because L wanted to; I liked it more than I thought I would, though I still say all the fuss is rather overblown. It was a bit hazy when we saw it, which may have diminished the impact. Though I rather suspect it was all I'd already seen that had done the diminishing, for me.
The best part of Arizona came further south, when we saw acres of "real" cacti and temperatures climbed to one hundred and twelve, a fact that amused me terribly, mostly because in parts of Wyoming it'd been thirty-nine, and we'd seen snow.
Not far into California, we saw dunes. That was exciting, though they didn't last long.
And then we were in San Diego, and then there was the ocean, and there really just isn't much more to say. Have I seen it all? There can't be much more to America, at any rate.
I feel surprisingly but decidedly bereft. And happy. Bereft and happy, because I realized a dream but now there's emptiness, because reality takes up so much less thoughtspace. But it was realized nonetheless. And how often, really, in one lifetime, do we get to say that about ourselves?
Eventually there may be pictures. But that's all, for now.
Although I did not allow myself sleep for long. Less than four hours. There is too much to do. It's remarkable, though, the dreams that can be had in so short a time.
I dream about people from ballet an awful lot. It's been years now. I suspect there is something unresolved, there.
But that is so beside the point. I am home. Twelve days, and it feels like forever. I feel kind of strange. On the way home from the airport last night - flying is an ordeal I'd rather not think about for another few years at least - it all hit me, so overwhelmingly, it took a minute to breathe again.
It's such a dream, such an old one, seeing so many places when my world has always been so simple and small. I dreamed of huge mountains and wide plains, of red rock and canyons and huge, huge sky - I thought it would mean something to finally see it all, but I don't think it means anything, not really.
I can say that I am amazed still at how beautiful this country is, how much open space there really is left. L and I drove from Syracuse to just north of Chicago the first day, which was fine but unthrilling. After that, though... I loved Wisconsin, but I loved Minnesota more, the flat prairies and the scattered farms, how strong the wind is there. South Dakota - what a strange place. Billboards from God every five miles, and an especially amusing one declaring that South Dakotans were against animal activism. A state with Rushmore and Badlands and Wall Drug as its only claims to fame. We didn't see Rushmore, but the Badlands were gorgeous, though they pale in my memory against the rest.
Wyoming, that huge, empty place. I don't know what to say about the Rockies, except that they were bigger and more frightening to me than anything I've seen before. I thought I'd love them. And in a way I did. But I was relieved, undeniably, to leave them behind. I understood at last why those Rocky states are as empty as they are - who could live so near something so perpetually overwhelming? There would be nothing left to wonder at. Nothing at all.
Idaho was odd. There really isn't much more to say about that, except that never have I driven so far on a road so empty. L and I went a little crazy for a while in that barren, barren place.
Utah, Utah, Utah. A shame it's so packed to the boundaries with Mormons, for I'm not sure I'll ever see a place more softly, starkly, quietly beautiful. It was hell up through Salt Lake City, actually, but everything after that I'd happily spend years exploring. As we neared Moab it all grew red; there just aren't words for how beautiful those sculpted formations of red rock are against a wide sky so blue it was nearly turquoise. L spent some time on her back beneath the curve of an arch; I believe she was communing with it. She was quite ecstatic over the geological significance of *everything* through the whole trip, I might add. Silly girl.
After Arches, a long beautiful drive south, into Navajo territory and what just might be, to me, the most spectacular view in all the world; the road to Monument Valley. I'd seen the pictures, of course, before, but there really isn't any subsitution for that moment when that landscape suddenly rises, the road narrowing off into the horizon. It was so fucking beautiful. I could never say that enough.
Arizona was nice. We did go to the Grand Canyon, because L wanted to; I liked it more than I thought I would, though I still say all the fuss is rather overblown. It was a bit hazy when we saw it, which may have diminished the impact. Though I rather suspect it was all I'd already seen that had done the diminishing, for me.
The best part of Arizona came further south, when we saw acres of "real" cacti and temperatures climbed to one hundred and twelve, a fact that amused me terribly, mostly because in parts of Wyoming it'd been thirty-nine, and we'd seen snow.
Not far into California, we saw dunes. That was exciting, though they didn't last long.
And then we were in San Diego, and then there was the ocean, and there really just isn't much more to say. Have I seen it all? There can't be much more to America, at any rate.
I feel surprisingly but decidedly bereft. And happy. Bereft and happy, because I realized a dream but now there's emptiness, because reality takes up so much less thoughtspace. But it was realized nonetheless. And how often, really, in one lifetime, do we get to say that about ourselves?
Eventually there may be pictures. But that's all, for now.