the road is now a sudden sea, suddenly deep enough to lay your armor down.

utah in to arizona. desert. brown. long roads. hazy skies. i feel lonely and exposed. vulnerable. i long for the shade of the trees. deciduous leaves. i thought my favorite color was orange, but i know now that it is green. my heart would break without it. i need to see green. hear the rustle. feel the shade. i hurry to flagstaff. i need to feel small. towering trees. starry skies. i think i'm going to wither up and die out here.

town breaks the monotony of tan and sun. route 66 through to the library. laying in the grass. marley dog at my side. shade. cool ground. a good book. relax.

sedona was recommended. a spiritual retreat. and while i found the town charming and the winding views of rock and trees breathtaking, it is too parched for my liking. to much rock to my wood. too much country, not enough soul. (if you want a good view: drive 89A south through arizona) south to prescott. my sister's favorite. i stumble across a jewel of a town, weaved into the mountain side. switchbacks. houses on the hill. a mythical land. jerome, arizona. i can't explain this town. eclectic shops. galleries. bars. reminants of brothels. all perched on the ledge of a mountain. a viilage out of dr. seuss. half expecting leprichauns or hobbits to appear. the strangest, if not most interesting place i have been to thus far. i talk with a couple on the hill. they try to convince me to move here. i'm half tempted although the streets look like trouble. an old mining town. bars and hooligans. but you can't dismiss its charm. i'm afraid to blink. i might be imagining this place. i turn down the offer of a beer. the road is trecherous and i need to be alert. winding switchbacks. 15mph. 20mph, now 15 again. blackest black. the only differentiation between land and sky is the absence of stars. black touches black, touches road. i stop to organize my car. fold and shift. dust and wipe. i've gotten quite good at living out of my car. bathing in restrooms. washing my hair in the sink. always a little bit dirty, but presentable. it doesn't matter though. i haven't seen a mirror in a week. just speckled metal reflecting a basic image of me. not clear enough to make out features. but it's good. i'm not concerned with my wind blown hair or my dusty feet. and the people i engage don't seem to notice. we talk with the ease of friends. i think it's regional. people just seem to like people out here. and my isolation and lack of verbal companionship has made me crave interaction. not desperate. just unreserved. it's amazing what a stranger will tell you. what you will tell a stranger. we are all just trying to remind ourselves that we aren't alone. i collect faces and voices and names and stories. they become a part of mine.