Miles and miles of billboards and exits for small towns. I try to find things to take pictures of, but there is no reason to stop along I-10. Not right now anyway. We are almost to San Antonio when we pull off the freeway (I never call it freeway when I am in town), and onto to the road that will pull us toward Luling and slingshot us to Wimberley.
The road to Wimberley appeals to my newly forming photographer’s eye…but I don’t stop. I don’t stop for the huge dark hawk circling close to an infinite field of perfectly yellow tall grass. I don’t stop for tall, beige willowy reeds, at least twice my height, lining the side of the road…poised to be shot from below into a perfectly blue clouded sky. I don’t stop for the abandoned house with old tin signs that mark it as a business from long ago. I will catch these shots on our way back. I am not stopping before I have pulled off onto that gravel road that leads to our “middle of nowhere.”
When we arrive, the now familiar little cabin on the river seems impossibly welcoming. I always expect it to disappoint the wildly high expectations I have of it…and it never does. I pile my arms full of everything we need to bring inside, because I know I am not walking back out to the car now. I know what happens when I walk through that door.
And it does. Just as it does every time. My body feels the exhaustion of a thousand days of sleep that feels carved out of something else I should be doing. There is nothing waiting to be done here, and I fall helplessly into the bed, barely able to remove my earrings so that the pinch of them will not wake me from my perfect nap. I never realize how tired I am until I get here.
My eyes close on the dark wood walls and now shuttered windows (thank you, Tina), and I drift off slowly…savoring the feel of arms around me and the walk to the little creek waiting for me to have rested enough.
xo,
Kimberley
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment