Between mountains tonight. The volcanic, old-growth alpine is behind me now. The rain chases me, but I am faster than the clouds. Even with a rocketbox.
I watch the setting sun light the grass in the field like no Hollywood studio could recreate. It turns out that nature's last green is gold, too.
Halfway there, by any unit of measure, I nestle into the comfort of my sleeping bag. Using clothes at my back, kitchen bins for a table; I crack the laptop and prepare for this evening's feature film. If only I had popcorn.
I watch the sun set further, hoping no farmers will come to check on their fields until after I’ve crept away when the sun's chariot returns in the morning.
I think I am alone, but my phone keeps me company with its chirping and vibrating. I am not alone at all.
Cracking open a cool PBR from my fridge, I greet some new neighbors, simply looking for a quiet place themselves. My clothes bear the look and smell of our tribe's uniform.
The sun falls too low now to set the field on fire. My world closes in to the size of my Outback. It's movie time.
I am home.
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