HONEYMOON TRIP (Day 10)

Ah, the fog rolls in and suddenly a fella is looking as if he's above the clouds. Something about the coast of North America -- it just always seems to me that it's the final goodbye to the day in America. It's like the closing credits in a film. That's what I love about it. It feels like that ... like you're casually the last person awake at night and everyone else missed what happened after they went to sleep (or something like that ... I'm sure that I could make it more poetic, but ...). Being out here with my Scout is timeless. We're just drifting, silently through all this intake. It's magic.

And the roads just wind through. I've already planned a trip in my head on rented motorcycles with Buggy. It's too much. It's almost Science Fiction ...

And then just look at my sweet Scout, my panda cub pop-tart one-and-only checking out another speechlessness area! I want to spend more time out here someday when we win the lottery or invent the next post-it-note. I feel GOOD out here, so much so that Ol' Scout hasn't heard much from me for days and days (and I, in turn, haven't heard much from myself, either ... just a sort of constant BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Tomorrow, it's Florence, Oregon at Cooley's Cottage with Fatguy; I know he's ready. Bring on the coastal cottage and the coastal Absinthe!!!! One must live from time to time ... as I did today when I hauled this 600 year-old redwood chunk up this hill with my bruteness: