10 West

If I could I’d own a well-built jalopy. With strong doors to withstand the center divider. Its color would be scrapes of paint from half-conscious nights from when I, a graceful lady and a few steadfast lads would approach a shoulder and meander through small valleys fathered by quaint hills and green swells that are read by coy trails that are merely sweet nothings of an ever expanding path of Californian bliss. 

 

{homeward bound from Joshua Tree. March 19, 2010}