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i once dated a in one's teens man who was plagued with the wanderlust, which i conjecture is in some way in all of us...which is probably why i found myself traveling occident today towards sea beaches (my beloved sign in all of oregon) with moiety a tank of gas, no wet, no food (well...not in reality anyways), no cash, and no companions. at about mile 60 i cogitation to myself, "my gosh, what am i doing?" but it was too slow to turn back then.

when i arrived at headland lookout and paid the $3 day move fee (which ended up being $1 for every 10 minutes i was there, but as i told my friends it had diminutive to do with my destination as much as it did the impel) i stepped out of my car, alone, surrounded by families. i ignored the diminutive orthopedist protuberance angel of mine and made my way down the rocks (diminutive children were faring good in a higher degree than i) to the beach, where i promptly slid off my shoes and separate my aircast. with purse, shoes, and aircast in palm and fingers i walked rectilinear to the ocean where i let it lap up over my feet and ankles. i stopped because it in likelihood looked of a piece i was some crazy one only lady who worn out $3 to intrust suicide. as i looked down, i wished for only a next to the first that i had my camera with me when i remembered the canticle "3x5" by john mayer where he so aptly says, " didn't have a camera by my side this duration / hoping I would see the nature through both my eyes / it may be I will tell you all about it when I'm / in the humor to lose my way with accents ... Today I in conclusion overcame / tryin' to fit the cosmos inside a engraving frame / As luck may have it I will tell you all about it when I'm in the temper to / lose my way but let me say / You should have seen that first blush of the morning with your own eyes / it brought me back to vitality..." and, of career, he was right because as i was looking down at my feet, declining slowly into the aqueous sand, i saw a seminary of the smallest small fish i have ever seen, shimmying back into the main. slivers of try to catch fish. i walked a ways down the marge when it hit me: i was over 60 miles...

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