Wheel is turnin'

I'm going green a day early as June feels like the first full, green, month. The moon is so swollen tonight that it's hard to believe that it won't be full yet for a day and a half. With no fresh pics to blaze, I picked a few from Utah which got away too quickly. For the moment I'm expected to trust in fortune, so I'll make trouble, because I'm geared for it....
But even when I'm angry I usually don't get that mad. We all go a little mad sometimes...

How many people actually, in their lifetime, get to stand on the edge of a cliff, I have wondered. Some interesting word usements in that structure. Anyhow, I'm totally blind in trying to see the future now. For some reason that's fine so I plunder along and wait for the right thing to happen. I wonder if God thinks I've walked the earth long enough yet. Good old earth, nothin' beats that. Heh heh.

Familiar Falcon

I didn't expect to find a wormhole in time on the streets of Santa Fe, New Mexico but, there it was, right next to me, a 1965 Ford Falcon convertible. "That's my father's car," I said, memories spinning all around me. There could only be a couple left on the road so maybe this was my dad's car. Ford only made the Falcon convertible for that one year, 1965, and his was white with a white top. One day we discovered a rip in the back window and he had a black top put on which made it unique. In '74, he, gulp, traded it in on a new Mustang II which we thought was a neat new car at the time, but that old Falcon is worth a nice house in L.A. now. Anyway, I came out of shock just in time to grab the camera and snap this shot. I would've loved to have talked to the driver, especially after seeing the tag. Click on the one down below and check it out.

Seeing the original spoke wheels and the old extended housing on the tail-lights opened a little door in my head that had been closed for about thirty years. I don't like the scoop they put on the hood because that appears to be the only thing that wasn't factory original. Probably the reason I have a convertible myself now is because of that car and rides under canopies of green leaves in the Marietta summers. Normally I change the wallpaper on my computer every week or so, but I think this baby will be up for a while.

Now, just a quick rant about Chip Caray. I had to MUTE the audio on the Braves' telecast today because it was making me scream out loud. The little anti-christ spent an inning and a half, all while game action was flourishing, talking about the Florida Marlins and why Orlando is a better city for that team. AAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! He wouldn't quit. I played a little game and would wait five minutes and then turn the audio back on and see how long it would take to hear Florida Marlins during a telecast of the Braves versus the Phillies and usually I couldn't make it more than 11 seconds. I screamed aloud at least four times and I'm not that tense kind of person, kinda quiet really. Ok, that was the condensed version. I could go on for pages and I might yet because it's still May and I'm ready to picket the stadium. Today was the worst I can ever remember and I'm afraid there's more to come.

Contact, he shouts.

This continent is truly divided, I've discovered again. Dashing from Marietta to the white rim canyons and red rock towers of Moab can have side effects, like extended vibrating and something akin to narcolepsy. Meanwhile, images from our campsite on the peninsula known as BPO, for Big Pocket Overlook, remind me of a ghostly sunset and a bonfire that could be seen from the Island in the Sky itself.

All too soon after dangling my legs over the Canyonlands, we were blasting back over the Mississippi at sunrise. The radio and TV stations started with a W again and the moisture filled the air in the stark sunlight. Still springtime for now but summer churns in the airs and brown waters of mighty rivers.

Breakfast Bongos

A planet where apes evolved from men? Tonight's post comes courtesy of the Inca Inn in beautiful Moab, Utah. Having just survived another trip down to Hades to fetch Proserpina (came up empty this time, but such lovely weather) a fierce twilight squall forced us, the Mighty-like Men of Moab, in of doors this eve, but truly it was the one hundred mile battering over brutal terrain in four-wheel drive that eased our resolve. The following views come from the vicinity of Dead Horse Point and Canyonlands National Park. Apologies for the minimum of words but the elements took a toll. Included in here are pics of the Green River and the White Rim Canyon and our campsite under the watchful eyes of the towers, Moses and Zeus in Taylor Canyon (anyone who knows me can imagine that the Planet of the Apes lines got used up quickly)

More chills, thrills, and spills to come. Once again, if you need a place to stay in Moab, try the Inca Inn. Very nice lady here.

This is our magnificent Toyota, FJ, while we're plugging things, I guess. Hard to believe we pulled out of the drive in Marietta, Ga. in this baby just five days ago. Only problems are the tiniest visor/ chick-mirror I've ever seen and no hand holds in the back seat, so it was a torture chamber back there today and a mere lump of hamburger is all that remains on the motel spread. Long way to go, though.

Heart's Land

A mighty, mighty wind battered us all the morning through the rising of the sun over the swirling green fields of Kansas, pushing the FJ to the north while I compensated to keep her heading west. The wind has left us now and we find Ginsberg's Denver Doldrums by the tracks where Neal Cassady's father laid down his hammer.

The Rockies sit in front of us and block the way with granite, limestone, snow, ice, wind, and the threat of the occasional thunderbolt. Uncanny. Beyond, the continental divide will send us tumbling down the Colorado plateau and the brown earth and green plush will quite suddenly give way to the shocking stark orange and red rocks that seem to occur punctually at the Utah border.

The next days and nights will be spent pressed to the living sandstone that cradles Moab and the Cretaceous landscape. May we slip through the elements.

Up and at them!!!

Hello, world. Look at me. One of the finest springs in memory rolls along. I'll remember this part of the year for afternoons in the driveway, throwing a baseball up in the air to catch in the freshly oiled glove (use Marbo's prime Neatsfoot oil compound) while Jonny Cat saved the house from an army of lizards.
Now the countdown begins to rejuvenation.
A midnight dash to the Denver doldrums looms on the horizon.
The sun guides me to justice.
Giant green mountains will fall away to towers of the red rock.
I'll try to see myself on my next visit to the same footprint.
At this point, I hope I'm built to try.
I feel the thunder gathering now but I don't expect the waters to come for a long time.