a wanderer’s life

my dream, always, was to travel –

in my early twenties, first real job,
money in pockets, time off, no one to answer to –
driving randomly, stopping wherever,
staying wherever,
by myself

seeing the world,
listening to music,
just taking it all in —

following the old roads, wherever they happen to lead;
seeing the country change
before my eyes

once, on an empty stretch of beach in Florida,
on a windy January day,
hearing the ocean in full symphony —
feeling like the only one who had ever been there:
well, except for the used condoms on the ground
of the parking lot

all of which made quite an impression on me, for
whatever reason

traveling, not to get anywhere preconceived,
but to develop new conceptions from
the act of traveling, itself

two weeks in a car
no company
no cell phone
no gps
no real destination, except
that night’s bed, wherever it might be —
the wanderer’s life

and what a life
it was

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