Saturday, May 14, 2005

The Cinnamon is Empty

We woke up in a pleasant spot, with the birds calling. Of course this is an interstate Rest Area (you know, the blue signs?) so there was also the rumble of traffic noise and the throb of diesel engines. But those are noises we have come to accept as background. Mary Ann even likes the diesel noises. We passed up a Picnic area for our overnight stop for an Offical Rest Area because she feels comfortable parked next to all those big trucks. Safer, she says.

So waking up on a morning like this is a pleasant combination of things. We are in deep West Texas, with the nearest town of any kind far over the horizon. This rest area is a watereed oasis in an land much closer to desert than praire. I-10 follows a long river valley. There are cliffs to the north and south, off five to ten miles in both directions. Because of the unusual rains, it is green. There was a morning fog, but it has burned off now. Mary Ann checks her email and watches the birds outside. A ringed turtledove is this morning's star performer.

Out the front window, we watch as a tow truck has to rescue a stranded motorist. What was his story, I wonder?

While an 18-wheeler rumbles by just outside the window, I prepared my morning oatmeal, and checked my email. Today was the last cinnamon from the shaker. A good omen that the trip ( at least this one) is over. We have just under 300 miles to go, if the map program knows what it's talking about.

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