It's a beautiful day today--looks like spring, and I guess it is, the tulips and daffodils are up in the front yard, and the grass is greening up along the roads. I always get the itch to travel this time of year, there is just something about the way the air feels and the roads are open and good, and the sun is shining; it seems like the most natural thing in the world to get in the car and just drive. North maybe, into Montana or west to the coast, or even south to Nevada.
We (mom and I) used to drive up to Thompson Falls Montana at least once a year, often more often, to visit mom's sister and her husband. They are both gone now, but I still get the urge to go there, rent a place for a few days or a few weeks and just kick back and write. It's a beautiful town, Thompson Falls. Its built between the bank of a reservoir and the side of a mountain with Houses nestled along wooded streets. Train tracks follow the highway through town and the trains rumble through around the clock. There are big boulders in some of the yards, and white tail deer that can be seen at any time of the day browsing in peoples gardens or meandering along the road. The people there are strong of spirit and hard working. The town has an atmosphere of mystery about it; the kind of place where the imagination can run wild. I can't go, of course, because of my psychosis I can't safely drive a car, and mom's long haul driving days are over, but I still think about it--a lot this time of year...