A Foolish Way to Live

Along the mountain roads of West Virginia, I follow a flatbed semi empty of its load, red taillights glowing like the eyes of strange creatures luring me into the fog. Dark trees hang over us, dripping in the mist and it is easy for me to believe that I am once again traveling through Monte Verde.

My cell phone lost signal long ago and so I am left with the wanderings of my imagination and the James Lee Burke audiobook whispering through the speakers of my car. I am on my way to a place of love to sing songs for people both known and unknown. It is a journey I have made many times before singing songs I have often sung.

As I drive, I am struck by the words I am listening to which so encapsulate who I am.

“I don’t like the world the way it is and I miss the past. It’s a foolish way to live.”

If such is the case, then I guess I am a fool and will forever be. Oh, for more of a life of such foolishness.

Suddenly, my phone starts to buzz and lights up with the notifications as the signal from the cell phone tower finally breaks through the barrier of these mountains. I sigh, realizing my brief isolation is at an end. There is a cost sometimes, the price we pay unknown, for what we think is connection.

Then I am turning into the parking lot, familiar faces before me, the guitar case bouncing on the seat behind me in anticipation of song.

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