And sometimes things just come to you. Things you'd hadn't thought of before. Not so much that you hadn't thought it but you hadn't thought it at the time. It happens a lot you know. And then suddenly your years of slackline-ing actually connects itself to the Grand Canyon. Poof. Jamima. And you see that the stairs actually do continue to the roof. As you gasp for air you realize your flailing is just causing someone else to drown. You can wait at the beach for the waves to roll the mountain dry but it'd be faster if there was a little less sand. The lonely accent. A reminder to breathe. And a poignant tale of what is really going on here. And by the end you've turned around twice, lost a fair amount of rubber, run low on washer fluid and cleared your mind and taken some pictures. Filled it. Cleared it again. And that as he says tends to be the biggest stone in the road. Someone thought it nice there. Maybe thought that's what it should have been made of. Tourist buses even drive by. And thugs. So, wonder why it's so easy for all the others? Check your rear view mirror. It isn't surprising. Barely an acknowledgement. Just one at best. Nothing indeed Lancelot. Aside of the saddle. Under the horse. Out past the trail. No, more. Just waiting, and then you find something else rather remarkable. You put your glasses down, things go dark, alone, and finally fall asleep.
And stop thinking.
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