I-5 Pretty

In a previous post I regaled our drive from Los Angeles to parts further Northeast known as Tracy, Stockton and Sacramento. Namely, that interminable length from the end of the grapevine to whatever that KABOOM exit is that has Corral in the title, but all the locals call it Coral, even though it’s spelled Corral…

5on3I didn’t take any pictures of the I-5’s generous weather display that I described in the post, which is good as I was driving–but my husband took 2 pictures, something I discovered only yesterday, roughly 2 weeks after the trip. I think. Time is a strange invisible fog around here—is, furthermore: compressed eons filled with daily heroes, homework challenges for extremely young individuals, and many internal debates on sanity vs. naps–because napping means missing-out-on getting things done, in addition to strength. Feel the scales tip.

Bottom (helpful) truth? Beauty is everywhere (I hope)? Even on the I-5, along that grueling, Dante-ish bit of freeway between here and Tracy.

Yours in endless revision,

P (revising everything) B

5two

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About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, activist, fortunate.
This entry was posted in Avoiding My Writing, books, Fiction, Writing, WTF and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Words do not escape you

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