The corn was nearly thigh-high. I am always amazed at how fast it grows. In a few days, it'll be hip-high. The sun was setting on the edge of the field, slipping down behind a row of shadowed trees. I imagined crickets chirping. It was so peaceful... I wanted to pull over and just stay for a moment.
Shiloh rested his head on the open window sill, letting the air rush over his face, closing his eyes on ocassion. Sniffing constantly. I envy his serenity.
Neko Case was singing, "I'm a dying breed who believes... haunted by American dreams." Being haunted is a curse and a blessing. Or at least, this is what I've decided. Ghosts will stop you cold but then force you to run.
I leaned back in my seat. Felt the wind rush through the open windows. Listened. Thought. Over the past few weeks, my mind has been unsettled. I've been pulled tighter than a drum and the stress has been evident all over me. At the end of the day, I'm just looking for one simple thing: a little bit of peace. I try to put some ink on paper, hoping that my peace is in the lines and in the spaces between the letters. It helps, I won't lie, but once in a while, there's just not enough ink.
Shiloh turned away from the window and I rubbed his head. As I pulled to a stop at an intersection with another back country road, I heard the crickets and a frog. And there, in that little moment, I smiled.