EARTH IS FULL GO HOME
...says a small hand-painted sign, affixed 15 feet up a cedar tree.
Minutes later I round a bend to a view of the sun pouring gold over a broad expanse of green fir. Further up the darkening road, a narrow window frames Mt. Rainier, dressed in lacy streamers of purple and white.
While I'm blogging this, another biker, whom I passed at the GO HOME sign, puffs up, asks if everything's all right. We commiserate about the heat of the day. He's overheated and can't cool down; I've had a headache the whole damned day.
What a blessing it is, after four trips to Burning Man, to stop and enjoy the scenery.
Minutes later I round a bend to a view of the sun pouring gold over a broad expanse of green fir. Further up the darkening road, a narrow window frames Mt. Rainier, dressed in lacy streamers of purple and white.
While I'm blogging this, another biker, whom I passed at the GO HOME sign, puffs up, asks if everything's all right. We commiserate about the heat of the day. He's overheated and can't cool down; I've had a headache the whole damned day.
What a blessing it is, after four trips to Burning Man, to stop and enjoy the scenery.
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