Tell me about a time you were driving down the road. Or riding in the passenger seat. What did you see? What were you daydreaming about? Freewrite, go!
A turkey vulture circles the ditch. I want to jump out of this moving car and run through the soybean field, until I reach that charming white farmhouse, and ask if I can move in. Can I stay, I won’t be much trouble. I just want to stare up at the sky, feed your chickens, ride ponies, and eat homemade rhubarb pie. I’ll wash your clothes and mow the fields, just don’t send me back to that dirty cement city. I’ll sleep in the grass and keep the fox out of your coop.
It never crossed my mind that this country couple didn’t like strangers running across their field. I finally noticed the shotgun cradled in the woman’s arms. I ran back to stand in front of the no hitch hiking sign and wait for the next truck carrying an industrial load to another cement city. I thought there must be something magic in the fields; something the city could never give me. I think I am headed to Texas going east. Maybe not, Alabama is singing about playing in Texas. Where is this trucker from anyway? The driver is swinging his arms like a chicken trying to fly; get me back to the city where white men don’t dance.