A brief interjection in the storyline for a moment of zen.
I was wrestling slightly with the write-up yesterday because Colleen beat me to the write-up punch, and I was starting to feel like my words were just copying hers. After all, we were on the same roads, mere seconds apart, experiencing the same things and even on the same bikes.
Last night in bed, I was rereading one of my very favorite books, John Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley, when I came upon the following phrase:
I discovered long ago that what I found was closely intermeshed with how I felt at the moment. External reality has a way of being not so external after all. This monster of a land, this mightiest of nations, this spawn of the future, turns out to be the macrocosm of microcosm me. If an Englishman or a Frenchman or an Italian should travel my route, see what I saw, hear what I heard, their stored pictures would be not only different from mine but equally different from one another.
And so I return to my write-up of the weekend, determined to focus on microcosm me.