Planes dip into this lake, man-made on indigenous land, en route to fight the fires all around. It’s one of very few campgrounds currently open in New Mexico. No matter how much of this area I haven’t been allowed to see on these past two visits–first COVID, now fires–it continues to feel utterly magical to me.

You will stop to stick your face into a gardened rose. Soon, you’ll catch your companion doing the same. Something like adoration blooms between you as you laugh over shared meals. Stories are appreciated, silences smooth, all feels paced with elegant understanding. Both and each of you breathe easy despite your only recent acquaintance. The gangly dog bounds and leaps, attentive to the second, affectionate without pride. What standards these creature have concocted for you! What hope.

I enjoy going to the laundromat. Truly, I enjoy the humanness of it all. It’s like on mass transit: everybody is just here to get a thing done so we’ll mostly be polite. The trolleys are a multi-functional assist that I only learned the full capabilities of by watching. Quarter machines feel nostalgic these days, as if adulting is its own prize. The dirty clothes are another whole adventure. The before part actually is a strange experience, and so trite–airing it, and all–but the after is an underrated opportunity to see your own stuff anew. Although I’ve found that strangers universally do not pay any attention, a wardrobe folded publicly does ask for some scrutiny. Most of my clothes are nicely worn to the point of not really bothering to look clean despite being so. I appreciate that—I’m not a person who concerns themself with wrinkles. There’s something to learn from clean clothes.

Today at the laundromat I was preoccupied with the forests of New Mexico closing for fire safety. This would make it tricky to find a home for the night, no less on a holiday weekend. I didn’t bother to dry my clothes for more than one quarter’s time, never mind that the enormous TV in this two-dozen machine laundromat was playing that old Michael J. Fox show where he’s a cute nerd. I was laughing out loud as I laid my damp laundry into the bag in a way that would make drying it easy. Being in the hot car for a while wouldn’t hurt, then I’d hang them when I found a spot.

Et voila.

Ahem, hi hello yes do you have birds here?

I drove into the desert and up a hill after a long day of birding in hot weather. I had that mineral sunscreen on, the white kind that you have to scrub off. I’d been sweating and I was aching to get out of the sun. This is the desert though, and shady spots are hard to come by. I decided to do the next best thing to cool myself off. I found a nice flat spot atop a rise, parked the car, and peered around for signs of civilization. The horizon was visible for nearly the entire turn of my body. I assessed the distance to the closest other human at at least a mile before I set myself up. If a solar shower spends all day in a mostly-hot car, well, the temperature gauge on this thing read 115F. Thusly equipped I washed off the day under no shelter whatsoever in the nearly-setting, still hot sun. Alone and exposed to the elements, half-rushing, mostly giggling, I cooled down, so fresh and so clean.

Morning showed a new crack in the abused plastic fender
Fur stuck in the tape where I’d patched up the rest

Had you been there I know I would have pulled over
Together we’d have offered the scavengers’ feast

Alone though, I drove on screaming I fucking tried
I had prayed I had slowed for the creatures of twilight

I taped up the fender I left there the fur
Destruction, creation, adventure, remember

Fuckin’ delighted to let y’all know that I drove my little car right onto this beach to camp. If you haven’t attempted to drive on sand before, let me tell you: don’t. This beach, with the exception of shorebird nesting areas and the strange interruption of a gator swamp, is packed down and specifically maintained for vehicles to cruise on. Two nights in a row now I’ve been able to get good sleeps in the sea breeze despite the temperature remaining well above 65F. In the mornings there are hundreds of water-loving birds: little sandpipers, kildeer, and plovers flitting to and fro in the sand, hooded and other gulls bathing in the calm pools made by a break wall, giant brown pelicans diving in the background. All of them noisy and excitable as a lunchroom full of seven year olds: socializing, bickering, eating. No swimming here, so I keep myself busy at the myriad nature preserves and bird sanctuaries in this area.

I hadn’t seen the Gulf of Mexico before. The horizon out here is dotted with what I assume are oil rigs. Way, way out there are metal monstrosities that never move. They are lit up all day and night, but would be easy to spot regardless. I am deeply grateful to have found myself in a part of this area that celebrates and protects wildlife. There’s hurricane damage here, but no particularly noteworthy human destruction.

I was greeted this morning by a man who wanted to talk about my Maine plates. He ended up giving me a map for a National Park where he works in Wisconsin. We laughed that the day I visit will probably be his day off. His wife gave me a giant cookie from a local bakery. It was her birthday.

It hasn’t been easy for me to acclimate to the deep south social culture. I am always up for single serving friendships, but this was one of my first happy, easy, traveling exchanges since.. last year. I’m not sure why—and I’m certainly not gonna spend much time on it—but my charm is pretty ineffectual round these parts. So far none of my “little while friends” have been southerners, but that won’t stop me trying.

Slowly but surely, this cowboy is heading to Texas.

Many major cities are composed of stunning architecture, bright lights, and a bubbling, impersonal ferocity. There is constant energy, relentless tension, perpetual motion. My bumpkin heart gets caught-up and entranced by the sights and sounds for a short while, then quickly exhausted.

Many fewer major cities—and I’m sure hundreds of neighborhoods within the shinier cities—have a different feel of hustle and bustle. Outdated but beloved architecture, shorter buildings, sky with stars overhead, and people who say hello to strangers. There is a flow of energy, tension only with authority, perpetual creation. There is an authenticity to this, an appreciation for what remains after government neglect. The roads in these places require slow-going: rutted, pocked, full of holes. This is the most obvious evidence of abandonment, but as you look you will find so much more.

A common enemy creates bonds within a community. A common cause can do the same. Although it is certainly in my nature to hold court about a thing like this, I cannot pretend to know much about the plight of impoverished cities and neighborhoods under a government built on the subjugation of the inhabitants. Majority black places are routinely fucked over–Symone says “these streets are a hate crime”, and her precision takes my breath for a second–yet always chock full of beauty, right at the surface. Give me a spray painted mural over a corporate sculpture any day. Better yet, paint the mural on the corporate sculpture. Trip over a broken sidewalk and look up to see a bounty of squash and tomatoes and lettuce fitted into four square feet of fencing. There will be local and classic and beloved music bursting from slow moving vehicles. Pieces of plastic, glass, and metal repurposed as decoration, planters, fencing. Neighbors who say hello, no eyes averted, who are yelling and laughing like every day is a good one. I like a culture that looks at the truth of what power does, grieves it, then decides to go ahead and create something, take care of each other. Indeed, from the songs of enslaved people to the undeniable skill of the wheelie boys, such behavior is quintessential black American legacy.

There’s those trite aphorisms about the rose from concrete, or “they tried to bury us but didn’t know we were seeds”. I fall hard and fast for anything that embodies those statements. The buildings in disrepair with clearly beloved gardens. Aggressively bright colors against the grey of crumbling walls. Rebellion in the face of the slavers, who later became the police.

As this spoiled, pathetically bratty, absolutely embarrassing infant of a country finally learns what it means to have rapists in power, I stay avoiding the news. There’s plenty to do in the world right in front of me. Truly, for a lot of Americans, the civil war never ended.

Today Symone and I grabbed some soul food for a picnic in City Park, which at 1,300 acres is 50% bigger than NYC’s Central Park. Our friendship grew directly from our shared curiosity about art and the outside world. We have spent many hours playing together in highly curated DC spaces, both in and out of doors. Then there was that one time we explored all of Berlin’s Tiergarten, which is a humble 519 acres but still made for a very big day. We love an outdoor adventure! City Park was the natural choice for Symone and my first adventure in her new city.

I been solo on the road for eight nights! How about a glimpse of Sorcha’s interior before I batten her down for some city parking? I didn’t edit this scene at all, just snapped the shots. Next time, back seats.

Have I missed the deadline?

Can I play my part?

I apologize for wandering

I had to make a start

I had to just get going

hit the road

sleep outside

I was busy birding

Busy sighing at the sky

I started “Rhythms for the Road” last year and then took a break as I stood still a while. Now that I’ve driven all the way to fuckin Mississippi from Maine (woohoo!) I want to share this one with y’all again. I present to you the copilot of my dreams—encouraging in traffic, rolling with the ups and downs of mountains, chilling and cruising at any speed. The only limitation of this playlist seems to be that it’s exclusively good for being in a moving vehicle. Not recommended for hanging out, doing chores, or dancing. It’s also in no particular order because Spotify only made that feature available recently.

Please enjoy these songs randomly as your scenery changes.

If you would like to enjoy this glorious compilation but do not use Spotify, please let me know! I will send you screenshots of every song on this four hour list. I was gonna put it here but that would be a massive aesthetic disservice.