Sunday, November 3, 2013


DAY 4 – NOVEMBER 2, 2013
Early morning. I'm not exactly sure where we are—Missouri? St. Louis? But that's not surprising. It is still very windy and cold. Gray is the color of the sky—lifeless and uninspiring, but all of a sudden, an unexpected ray of sun brakes in; resilient yellow light illuminates the dullness... like a sweet miracle. The morning has been showered with a new brightness. It is so strong, this light against the gloominess of the morning, that it assures me we're in the road of hope, and progress, and joy for sure. It's just a matter of time. And trust.
We came down onto a charming little rest area nested on the mouth of some river. All the magical colors of autumn seem to have fallen down over the park; like a spilled glass of paint all over it, or like a magical umbrella of goldenrods, crimson and toasted red wrapping it. We wanted to set up camp there and have some lunch, but the nippy weather turned me down. The warmth which my heart had been seeking for some time now has been evading us—or so it seems. We will have to keep driving further South.

We droved for about a mile looking for a place to eat; looking for that Chinese Buffet announced on the billboards by the road, but we couldn't find it. And with the few choices for eatery in this little town, we decided to leave.
On our way out of Metropolis, we passed some type of a park—an enchanted island of trees and shrubs and grasses the color of oranges and cinnamon sticks and toasted nuts... how lovely, and how despondent at the same time it looked to me; all wrapped up in soft autumnal shadows and gloomy light. The softness of the afternoon light; the dimness in which the park seemed to rested; all mingled up and confabulated to confer the appearance of peace and sadness of a cemetery... a resting place for the dead as well as the living.
Just when we were leaving this beautiful and poignant scene, something got my attention... In the midst of all that dullness-like veil of melancholy—a group of young man playing some sorts of sport... my eyes, and I guess my heart too, caught a fast glimpse of one of the young man... in his black and white sport suit; slim and dark-haired and so alive and carefree and beautiful among the rest; beautifully defying his surroundings; yet, conforming to it... to the lovely sad atmosphere of the park.
Strange, and powerful feelings, almost mystical, stirred in me, and I thought of my own youth, and of those long forgotten days when, no matter how gloomy, or dark the sky may had been, it was always so transparent and blue, and pure to me... and I felt that zest for life, and that irrefutable passion for just 'being' that, I guess, pertains only to the young, and for a fragment of time everything was lovely again, and youthful and wonderful—love on the tip of my lips. His image stayed with me for a long time.

We were starving by the time we left Metropolis. We decided to soothed our hunger with the big bag of rice crackers with nuts nested among the jumble-humble hodgepodge of things in the back seat... but where was it? We did find the bag after a while, but unfortunately we pulled it out among the many things kept in the back seat with the opening on the wrong side and made a huge mess everywhere. My husband grumbled something I didn't care to understand. I thought of that accident the day before involving that big truck back on Paducah, KY and the huge mess it made all over the road, and thought about the ludicrous disarray in our truck made by just a bag of crackers.  Why do people make such a fuss of so little?
We finally stopped at a Panera Bread Co. and warmed up our hunger to hazelnut coffee, chicken and wild rice soup and French bread. When I went to use their toilet I found out that it was out of toilet paper... I asked the lady waiting outside if she could please hand me some paper towel. Twice I asked for help without any avail. Was she deaf? Or did she not hear me? Or did she not noticed my hand waiving at her under the toilet door?  Was it my accent, perhaps? My Penelope Cruz accent, which always tricks me and reveals me somewhat unfamiliar, or different? And how small can some souls be? And why should that matter to me anyway? Beauty, is a light in the heart. I should keep mine alive. I should not let others put it off.  I was thankful for the lady who later came to my rescue.
Rain... rain came without a given notice, without a chance to let us get our raining boots out, or put on our raining coats—not even in our imagination. The sky turned dark and as ominous as an unforgiving sea... with soothing, lovely rain. I love rain. And so we droved on under soft gray rain... me laughing... laughing hard listening to my husband's stories and road deliriums... of how our truck and Gypsy Caravan felt heavier than when we first started our cross country trip back at the house in the roses... and that perhaps, maybe someone had hidden a cadaver in the Gypsy Caravan while we slept the night before, and so on... a certain indication that we need to hurry up and get home. The road is definitely starting to do some strange things to our minds.


1 comment:

  1. WOW beautiful pictures. Where are you traveling to? Sounds like you are having a terrific trip and so much to see. Looking forward to seeing the rest of your trip.