stretching out ahead of you into the glazed over horizon, sandstorm slivers slicing the windshield, the sun about fifty metres above land’s end, and riding, riding like there’s no tomorrow

dust storms rising, and after the dusk, clouds wrapping their cloaks about you, and then the parched earth soaking in the rain

the smell of fresh earth after it rains, and the smell of freshly cut grass

the sky so blue, not a cloud in sight

the leaves red in the autumnal, cold wind flaring your nostrils crazy waving your hair as you ride into it and

where are you tonight, sweet marie? Asleep a million miles away asleep far far far

away

there are so many beautiful books to read, so many lonely long-dead souls to listen to