In Between

but dilly-dallying
over the hills
the miles of vines
the corners of which I’m cognizant
but just barely
the dead barn owl with one wing flapping in the breeze of a car just gone by
the cows
cute but stinky
and thankfully organic
the jibber-jabber on the radio
the cool rush of air from the window on the far side of the truck
the miles
the miles
they rush at me and under me and into infinity beyond the back bumper
and then the sun pushing up and into
the sky in the mirrors brightens and lightens and makes itself known
and when I look up at the mountain range that stands between me and the massive expanse of Pacific
the fog just barely spilling over

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