Cascadian Adventures Post #2

8/21/13 
The shaft of moonlight cuts the shadows into deep pools illuminating the sharp edges of the gravel coating the road we are camped beside. 
We are sleeping in the back of the truck tonight the tailgate open to the moonlight and the fresh Cascadian air. 
Darryl, searching for the perfect Ragu, sana his pants
The day tumbles before my tired eye; the thrift store shopping for pots and pans, the adventure at Winco -a deeply discounted grocery store- that upon entering, I read the sign "Shirt and Shoes must be worn." 
I cocked my head to the side and asked Darryl, "But not pants?"
He gave me a wicked grin and said, well, lets find out.
He then proceeded to strip off his worn jeans and plopped them in the cart. 


We spent an hour shopping and planning meals for out in the mountains, his strong but white legs poking out of his dark blues boxer briefs.  But no one said anything. 



On the way back to the campground the sun was setting in the most iridescent and irresistible light. Darryl stopped the truck and I took about a million photos of the sun dipping it's golden spoke into the sound, lighting up the water and the islands, gilding the trees in gold, before disappearing ad leaving the evening in the most delicious purple shadows. 

We drove along the coast, south, until we hit the interstate and then headed towards the mountains, driving along two lane roads through farm country. I left the window open and let the scent of fields and hay hit my face in full force. I'd missed this, living in the city. We watched the moon rise, full and pregnant, floating just above the horizon. It felt enchanted, like a special blessing hanging over us and the quiet road.  









As we drove through the last big town before we really hit mountains we stopped to print out Ricci's insurance and registration and we had a miraculous experience at a FedEx print and copy shop, that let us in after hours and then sent us on our way, driving into the dark, illuminated by the moon over farmland, sleepy jerseys and fog clinging to the tall grasses of the fields. The radio hummed with John Mayer's new album, and softly hummed along.




























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