opening the road
Be clear-eyed with your packing. Vacuum with a sense of both duty
and love. Consider the last bits of laundry your allies, the fridge
cleanup, like a dock will nudge you offshore. Disregard the pretty
arrangement you might make of your towels. Cross the long bridge
of the front door eaves. Get into the car. Turn the key. Pay
strict attention to that first crosswalk, the old woman returning
from the bank, the toddler bobbling after his dad. This is not a day
for idle dreaming, or fickle absent-minded yearning.
And then: Release yourself into the wild. Unyoke each needless load.
No journey can begin without you opening the road.