We all get a little tied up in the regime of dailiness even if every day is exactly different. For the last month, the days of our eastern European honeymoon wore us onward. The rigmarole of entering a new city, figuring out how to get around, foraging for meat-free food, and finding lodging in hostels or with friends for 11 countries of time becomes routine. Leaving becomes routine. Departure is my favorite part of being on the road. No, being on the road is my favorite part of being on the road, and the first step of this requires departing. Destination: known, occasionally in advance. Though arrival is a slippery process and somehow the knowns wiggle around a little and always change.
This is going to spiral into another meditation on home, and it feels like there's not much discovery in that at present, for me or for you. Each day, I find, to be a shawl that I worm into or strip off depending on how chilly it is. Maybe the unworn days wear me and carry me forward and I suppose I hope they do. Increasingly I need to layer the days on for fall, the loose yellowing leaves feathering down and the gusts that scrape them red like a rake against each other and the asphalt.
Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria. Last stop before the night train to Istanbul.
This is going to spiral into another meditation on home, and it feels like there's not much discovery in that at present, for me or for you. Each day, I find, to be a shawl that I worm into or strip off depending on how chilly it is. Maybe the unworn days wear me and carry me forward and I suppose I hope they do. Increasingly I need to layer the days on for fall, the loose yellowing leaves feathering down and the gusts that scrape them red like a rake against each other and the asphalt.
Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria. Last stop before the night train to Istanbul.
