Fresh asphalt and gravel pop and spit from the wide, swaying weight of the van.
Pop-rock fizz — teeming joy, like shaken strawberry soda in a thick, glass vessel,
waiting to shower the sky, tickling the way a ladybug tickles your hand as she dances.
Scrambling to hold tightly to the majestic, crisp, powdery paved entrance,
heaviness loses momentum and sits in awe at the grandeur.
And the gate opens. Continue Reading…