One Girl's Pilgrimage 6

Everything is tightly packaged, by man, as in nature: look at the carapace of ladybugs, the skin on a garbanzo bean, the husk of corn.  So it is with our worldly trappings, encased in brown cardboard and bands of tape, snugly stuffed into the back of the moving truck.  It seems that we have become mobile, like a snail.  We leave our hometown behind, sick with the sense of departure, and brindled with adrenaline for the unknown ahead.  

The temperature rises as we cross into drier turf, buttes framing the road like two hands clasping the sandy landscape.  Gullies sculpted by streams break the bands of sand and clay, studded by scrub brush and living tumbleweeds.  Everything familiar is behind, and nothing before us is welcoming.  The air simply urges us forward.

skeletons inside
our van shell
we are insects in this vastness