I am curled up like a cat, listening to the motor's hum. We have been on the road for nearly three hours and are in the last miles until Arles. Slightly compulsively, I have taken to counting the minutes to keep time from outsmarting me with taffy pulling trickery. For each moment seems longer than the last as the mountains shrink from hills to plains until I know that I am not ready to go home or even that where we live is not really our home--something I have a tendency to forget--but rather where we are.
So we roll along, a portable family, together but silent. Before I can sink into an easy sadness, Madame Nature, who has so bedazzled me in the past few days, takes pity on me and gives me one last gift. She rolls out the black clouds with the snap of a cape, pushing the sunset down to the horizon, wiping clean all in its path. I half close my eyes and let the blur warm me past my heart, down to my toes.
The exit for Arles is fast approaching. I fidget and bite my lip, wondering what is next.
My heart goes out to the families and friends of the victims of the terror attack twelve years ago today. Your loved ones walked their last miles in honor, now may they be at peace.