When A Cowgirl Says Tough Trail Ahead...

Lindale TX

Hard miles lead to shaking awake a homeless man and his pitbull in the few surrounding trees past the loop around Tyler. I try to break through trees with teeth before the red sunset is vapored away. My legs are beads of blood, colorless in the failing light like sticky sweat. My mouth has resorted to words that I haven't heard myself say in years. It is not what I want to come up out of my mouth. All other words are spent, or are too tired to form. As much as I want it to, my mouth won't stay shut until I have said too much, then silence.
Road signs have been followed. The sad truth is that I am not even lost. Sometimes the road fights the walker. Houses never end. The sprawl of tar and concrete is eating away the natural places. Just as the horse has passed its day, some roads are not meant for walking anymore.
In the cover of a few trees, out past yet another parking lot, down behind a dumpster, past the condom wrappers, whiskey bottles and a disguarded syringe I pull the velcro tab on my hawk. It falls into my hand like a prop from a film, practiced and silent.
I slept by a landfill in desperation during a rainstorm in Vermont. Rats crawled over my feet until I kicked them into the night. This feels worse. It was raining then. Rain cover sins. Rain keeps a majority of predators home. A majority. Rain is white noise that eventually eases the deepest anger, and fear.
After two tries the tepee tent is up. Inside, with red headlamp giving the illusion of fire to my journal, I try to write. By the time I come down and darkness itself convinces me that I am well hidden, and safe, I am too tired to put even these words together. Stamped postcards sprawl around my head as my eyes turn down. Tomorrow, I think, I will stop walking before darkness has me walk through thorns and glass. Tomorrow I will remember why I am walking without my face being hard.
Renee, you were right. There is no rest till Lindale.