Travel, Love, and Let go

A beaming sun lays warmth along highway forty-six, stagnating heat pours in through the windows. The glaring road winds ahead of her like something wild and free curving left and right, then left again, rising and falling with the hills in that easy, thrilling yet relaxing way which evokes the sensation of riding a roller coaster. Gracie has driven this stretch countless times each time, resonating with it, her mind, body, and spirit experiencing cohesion in nature. The particular loosening which transpires with open roads, blue skies, hill views- minimal vehicles along the winding road. Nothing and no one asking anything of you. Just relax, breathe in the warm late summer air, marvel at the hills and keep your eyes on the road.

A relaxed meditative mindset propels Gracie forward through the hilly winding back road highway.

Gunner leans his head out the window. His ears rest erect, tongue hanging sideways, whiskey eyes squinting into the wind embodying the particular bliss of a creature who has decided that this — exactly this — is the whole point of being alive.

She reaches over to rub his chest without looking. He loves it, then stretches his paw out for Gracie to hold. She embraces his soft tricolored paw for a moment, before returning her lightly tanned hand to the wheel.

The grass along the shoulders beholds hues of golden green in the late September heat, the hills rolling in every direction — soft and slow and ancient-looking, the kind of landscape you stare at for hours. The hills enormous stature kiss the sky providing relief from busy city congestion. That is the thing about Texas: the hills are never a backdrop. It is the whole conversation, like the light blue sky and western themed architecture.

She cracks her window a little wider.

The air trickling in is warm. Thick, stuffy, hugging like a heated blanket plastered against your face and body. Comforting yet Smothering. In the glove box, a wearable fan waits to be worn. Pushing the little black button she rolls the window back up, feeling the ice cold air conditioning set at sixty-five. The smell of beach coconut sunscreen fills her nares, along with Gunner’s citrusy scented fur coat. An iced pumpkin mocha rests in the black plastic cup holder, which Gracie also breathes in delightfully.

Vermont had been fifty-two degrees. She’d woken up comfortable under one thick fleece lined blanket, to the sound of chimes humming and clattering together in the early autumn breeze.

She loves Texas. She’s been coming and going for six years after finishing college and still feels the pull of it in a way she can’t quite explain to people who hadn’t grown up here. But it is late September still pushing ninety degrees, and her body has spent a few days basking in the memory of what cool air feels like, and now every degree is personal.

The beach. A cool breeze while anticipating a rosy tangerine sunset. That is the answer. Mysterious blue green waves turning white and clear while rushing to the tan sandy shoreline.

She is going to park the van, walk straight into the waves, and stay there until she feels relieved of the oppressing heat of South Texas.

Gunner is going to have a blast. Gracie pictures him splashing in ocean waves.

“Gunner, we are going to the beach.”

The German Shepard tilts his head to the side then wags his tricolored tail, of black, brown, and tan, tapping it on the grey upholstery.

Up ahead, the paved road levels briefly near a traffic light. Gracie slows with the line of cars ahead. On the right, a grassy pull-off opens up — one of those informal roadside setups that appear in the Hill Country without warning or explanation, like they'd just grown there. A hand-lettered sign advertised Fredericksburg peaches. Beside it, cowhide rugs are draped on wooden rods in irregular patches of brown and white, minding their business in the sun. A food trailer sits parked at the back of it all, a cord of grey smoke drifting from its vent.

The light is red. She sits with her wrist over the wheel and looks at it. Admiring the sterling silver seashell bracelet her grandmother handed down to her before she passed.

There is a family in a lawn chairs near the peaches, tending the stand, interacting with one another whilst watching the traffic go by with friendly expressions. A man in a cowboy hat was talking to his wife near the cowhides, gesturing at the set up.

Quintessentially. Completely. Bandera County, Texas. The hilly countryside.

She smiles as the light turns green, takes a left down highway sixteen.