Nomadic. Storyteller.
Soul searcher.
Experience hungry.
Music carnivore.
Dreamer of better things.
trippin' along the Apache trail
Hunter S. Thompson was on the brain.
Strange because I wasn't in Las Vegas, I was in Arizona.
But when you feel like you've dropped peyote, the desert becomes a strange oasis.
Stranger than normal, that is.
Cacti speak with muted tongues, reaching out to prick me with harsh words.
Lizards eye my sweaty form, snakes slither in the hot sand, away from sight.
Vultures circle overhead.
I shout to the mountains and raise my arms to worship the almighty sun in my desolation.
The engine revs as the car kicks up dust.
No one can see me being a bad ass, probably for the best.
I venture on down the dirty road in a transient state.
Looking for nothing, finding exactly what I was looking for.
As the suns starts to set, I find an abandoned horse corral.
I sit and watch the wind turn the mill.
Cows pass in single file, my stomach grumbles.
Thoughts and actions are blended into words from a strange day along the Apache trail in the Superstition mountains of Arizona.
Source: MyWalkabout.net