Calling all cars

Winter holds on in the west while the southeast enjoys early spring. My time dwindles and tomorrow I lose the Chevalier to his rightful owner and that will be sad though I am looking forward to sleeping in past eight in the morning. Today a cloud layer sits over the giant bowl of Los Angeles in contrast to yesterday when I drove the Black Dahlia over and up into the hills behind Glendale, up highway 2 and in just fifteen minutes found myself alone on beautiful curving mountain road where, in the rear view mirror, the center line looked like a black and yellow ribbon blowing behind the wonderful car, the top down, sun on my face, the sounds of Dark Star pouring out of the speakers and into the clear crisp air. All this just an easy trek from my new back yard. I found a fine spot up a little ridge and sat on a bed of pine needles amid the atomic pine cones that peppered the area and put my face to the sun and meditated while listening to the sounds of the canyon, the voice of the raven, the attack speed wings of a falcon knifing through the updraft, and an almost constant tremor of rocks falling to remind me that the world is alive and I now had a direct transmitter to god.