You learn things about yourself on the road. I love driving in Texas. As a mountain girl, the flatness intrigues me. The way the road stretches so far, so little to distract the eye. We pass a windmill farm that stretches for miles – giant white arms spinning slowly over cotton, over burnt red earth, over houses and wire fences. This gives way slowly to nubby stumps of hills dotted with low-lying trees or tall bushes, peppered with horses or black bulls.
That Texas sky is so big, the sun takes twice as long to sink down under the scrubby land. I watch the blues ease into pink, the pinks into deep soft purple. And in the great distance, something twinkles in the near-darkness.
A grey ribbon slides under our wheels, pulling those lights closer.