Visions and Vagaries

I am haunted by these visions. These dreams, night after night. Having visions looking out into the inky darkness of night on the interstate. These dreams are of mountain and precarious mystery. Last night I dreamt I was traveling west on US-70 and then cutting onto I-40 west heading towards Asheville. I imagined it as much larger than it actually is. Before me was a dusk much like the one I saw last time up there, snow clouds hazed a deep red by the darkening day. I saw red and burgundy, only disrupted by the silhouette of buildings and mountainside, a sliver moon right on the sun's tail, but it is impossible to paint. I relapsed into this dream a few times while on I-26 tonight whilst staring out into the blank canvas of the ink sky. It was one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had. I then remember flashing past the city in a blaze of yellow squares of light, thinking "Oh, this city is the most beautiful city in the world!" It was the kind of beauty that threatens to destroy you, incinerating you with its light. Many of us have these dreams, and they allure us. For me, those dreams are strong enough to drive me to the life of a vagabond, whether it be for a few weeks at at time or for a day. Perhaps I am just more resistant to the tie-downs of every-day life. I can often leave it in a heartbeat, without a second thought. I had a thought of simply walking around SC for a limitless amount of time. Walking. Making simple camps in pine forests. No matter where you are, the vastness and weightless feeling makes it worth a while.