Here are a series of thoughts, brief poems, and stories I conceived of while on a recent road trip from Massachusetts to western Pennsylvania. I hope you’ll enjoy this dive into my mind!

The hawk

A hawk taking flight
from the side of the highway.
I catch one glimpse and
see him suspended
wings beating
mid-air.

Travelogue as the road trip takes us into Beacon, NY

Beacon, NY is a cute little town. It’s a bit of a strange one, too. I couldn’t quite tell whether the people passing on the street were locals or whether they were tourists. We walked by some people speaking French. My boyfriend Dylan and I began to theorize.

“Maybe all the Europeans fled here. After the war,” I said.

“Maybe there’s a secret government project nearby and they need all the European scientists,” he said.

I laughed. “It’s in the prison. That’s where!”

“All the German scientists.”

We had pizza at a local artisanal-type place. They probably had a brick oven inside, but I didn’t find out. It was pretty good pizza, I thought. Then we were back on the road, his mother driving. We came to a place where the police had blocked off the highway with flares.

“You know what happened?” I said.

“What happened?” Dylan’s mom asked.

“A prisoner escaped. That’s why this is blocked off.”

It was actually an oil spill. But you win some, you lose some. If you have an imagination, you might as well use it.

The crow

The small bird
dives and pecks the crow
again and again.

Like Prometheus chained to the rock
the crow wavers,
sways on encumbered wings.
Pays the price of bigness
in blood.

Thoughts

That song “Sunglasses at night” played twice during the road trip. I really like that first line. I wear my sunglasses at night…

Another thing — I really want to look beautiful at my funeral. Call me vain but I don’t care.

There was a really nice vista where you could look over the fields and goddamn, it was beautiful. Also, the Catskills are a beautiful mountain range. But nothing beats the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina, when the fog comes and hangs over the crags, when you drive through the ravines and feel like you could lose yourself in all that beauty.

“Shenandoah” might be one of the most beautiful words ever. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s beautiful.

If you enjoyed these reflections…

Check out some more poetry on The Poetry Deck. And read my reflection on failure — which doubles as an exhortation to succeed.

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