I drove down that long winding road this morning, the one carved out of a thick carpet of pines, and the sun was coming up and it blinded me as it bled through the cracks. Pools of light gathered on the pavement and I saw streams shoot through the trees as though God were holding his thumb against the surface of the sun. I drove, hypnotized, eyes fixed on the road with a yellow wash over my peripheral, thinking I’d be happy if the road never ended and the flood of light drowning it never dried up.


Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

2 thoughts on “Running”

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