Truth be told, I’d have to get my mind right. At this point in my life, I tend to get a bit unpleasant in anticipation of any road trip that exceeds 90 minutes. If there’s traffic, then I get to practice my road rage management techniques that my therapist taught me. As an interesting aside, he shared these techniques with me because he sensed my need for them because I visited him for an entirely different reason that day. I wonder if he had visions of me cursing folks out while my hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel. My jaw clenched, reveling in the destruction that could leave me snaggle-toothed in my later years. Oh Lord, if I’m missing teeth, then my old man beard that I planned to rock is a no-go! I would look crazy (to quote my dear friend Jasmin)! I’m certain that somebody in the deep hills will be waiting for me to realize that that is where I belong. I would miss my perfectly appropriate suburban home. See, crazy! How in the world do I go from visions of fantastic road trips to being an old, Black hillbilly? Given the world that we live in, would I be alright up there? Would there be problems?

I would need a flying car because I’d like to visit a few of the seven wonders of the world. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon come to mind. The lush greenery contrasted with aging stone. A patina revealing copper, gold and burgundy tones tinged with a mossy green veneer. Gardens suspended in air. Hinting at the possibility of life suspended in liminal space. Now, was and will comingling in still symphony. The echoes of this engaging competing with the chorus of my mind, working through chromatic scales. Half-steps only, no whole-steps. Clumsy finger placements betraying the lush scale with liminal tones in suspension. Very much like the suspension in Corelli’s “Christmas Concerto” wherein the volume of the F-sharp and the G-natural sounded by the violins must be at equal volume for a seductively queer pitch to emerge. Alas, unmatched volumes–much like competing agendas–will result in a train wreck in the ears and the mind.

Life, much like a road trip borne out of our wildest dreams, is not always harmonious. Thirds, fifths, major chords, diminished chords, and minor 7ths represent the passing objects outside the window. The perspective constantly shifting…ahead, behind, aside. Liminal. In a raging suspense like a river cascading toward a fall. Does it know what awaits?

Will the hanging gardens delight or disillusion? I’ve avoided looking at pictures–Google Images will change your life, y’all–and chosen to entertain the vision constructed by my mind. The lushness. The hues in the stones’ patina that tell time’s story and serve as an almanac for those who care to know what Mother Nature brought, brings, and might bring.

Did I pack my Nutter Butters? We need to stop at a store. They are a staple of any road trip that I bother to take.

Next stop, the Painted Desert with the sun shining. It’s a wonder to me. More rocks and patina.