I turned back east this morning, giving back the little bit of time I eked out on my outbound trip. I had hoped to go my entire stay without any backtracking, seeing new things every day. But today dawned under a low, grey sky. There was some fog, and a mention of the possibility of some freezing precipitation of one kind or another to the north and east, so I decided to avoid tempting fate and cut a more conservative course.
I am glad I did. I retraced some steps, at least for the first hour or so on the road. But this time I was traveling through a fogscape of ghost forests and vanishing hillsides.
The fog froze onto the trees and grasses, rendering them into pure white sculpture, delicate in every detail. It was the same, but different.
Given the chance, I took a different transect. But the ever-varying rolling hills and fencerows and ruins gradually flattened out into mile after mile of unrelenting sameness, and much to my surprise, when given the chance to make a dash for the interstate, I took it gladly. The vastness of this place has worn me, finally. The weirdness of time playing games with me, the broken sleep and nagging frustration combine to dull my sense of wonder and make me just want to get home again.
I want to embrace this place, but it just escapes me. I am an easterner at heart, a Virginia boy, born and raised.