sunning in the southlands

Here I am in atlanta, set up on the front porch, coffee mug in hand, songbirds serenading me from towering sumac, oak and maple trees while the west wind brings in horsetail clouds and whispers of thunderstorms. It feels like the time to slow down. The past 4 days have been draped in bright yellow and green road signs, golden arches, red dust and pollen stained windshields as my friend turtle and i have followed the grey paved path of I-40 across the country. Interstates instill a sense of urgency, i've noticed: everyone needs to be getting somewhere, and: why aren't we all there yet? Why is it we don't ever have what we want? we're goaded into thinking that maybe we can find it at the next exit, because not only is there a mc donalds, but also a wendy's, a waffle house, a krystal burger, and a taco bell. and don't worry, if you're too busy to stop for food, you can just jack yourself up on one of 13 varieties of caffeine-laden cornsyruped beverages to add to that sense of urgency, convieniently located in the refrigerated section of the gas station (because you have to stop to fuel your vehicle, if not yourself).

But here, on the front porch, things feel a little less urgent; in fact, time seems to get lost in the humidity, and made inconsequential by the cloudburst. the stories i've collected in the past few days will find there way here shortly, like the sunbeams will eventually find their way through the clouds and warm the sweetness from the honeysuckle and magnolia blooms... (more tomorrow, i promise!)...