The Moody Blues and Cardboard Shoes

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We left Cow Head at 10 am and at 6:30 pm, I was having a cup of tea in my sisters kitchen on the other side of the island.

It’s a big island.

I think we stopped at every Irving we saw, buying coffee and chocolate bars that melted in the incubator that is a sedan without air conditioning. Our conversation topics flowed from online dating to homemade jewelry, dabbling in divorce statistics and a small spurt of wi-fi signal that allowed me to research the meaning of our given names. There was also a small spell of silence, which is even nice to have when you are lucky enough to have a dazzling road trip team as I did. The sun followed us east, fueling a long and sweaty drive after a weekend thats weather brought a bit of a chill to my bones.

Four summers on the Northern Peninsula should have taught me the importance of a scarf and wooly cardigan. I somehow stocked my bag with a suede jacket and high heeled sandals, which both were rendered useless for climbing a mountain to a wedding service in the misty rain. The other pair of shoes I brought were made of 99.9% cloth, and I would have been just as graceful had I ripped two flaps off a beer box and secured them with duct tape, but either way, I stayed relatively dry but absolutely happy. Aside from my rediculous wardrobe choices, my laughter was as constant as my breath the entire trip, and it was an absolutely joyful and perfect time.

There is nothing nicer than a bit of fresh air.

I made a friend at the local Legion, the bartender Barb. She served us both nights and said she loves it when musicians that come through pick up a guitar, or play the piano that lives next to the table that we sat at after Janes wedding, taking turns buying bags of chips and telling stories about hair removal and baby names.

Barb is obviously a very patient woman.

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The night ended with me hugging my new friend, and my old ones, and strolling up the winding hill by my lonesome to Uncle Steves, the rental house where we were staying. My pace slowed as I stopped battling the wind and pushed forward lightly, thinking about how rarely I walk so slowly by myself at night. I stopped to take a picture of the sky, which was peppered with bright and fledgling stars. I tried and tried but the photos wouldn’t register on camera. The stars just couldn’t be caught. I guess they were just for me.

For the long short walk not home.

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About roxymoss

This blog is a spot to collect some writing and snaps and drawings! I love classic Days of our Lives, riding my bicycle and 'liking' things on Facebook when I have had too much to drink. xo roxy moss
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