unexpected curves and sharp drop offs.

There was a ghost highway, and I turned down it.

Through the foggy twisting curves of the mountainous half-painted autumn atmosphere, my tears fell.

How did I always end up here.

Why did I always end up here.

I felt Gratitude to the mountains that always welcomed me, held me- my heart, my sadness, my truth.

As I wound my way through the twists of the road, my thoughts mimicked the unexpected curves and sharp drop offs- despite the warning signs positioned every so many miles.

Sometimes the fog feels like home.

Sometimes the chilly embrace of the grey haze is what helps the pinpricks in my heart freeze awake and crack open like the shell of an egg when you’re standing over the stove making breakfast.

It’s somehow comforting to know the familiar curves of the road and not see them coming- blocked out by the mountainous fog- just the next curve is all that you can see up ahead.