Today I was on my way home, at the light on Rt.9, and switched on the radio to a Jimi Hendricks song, which was intense and amazing as all get out, of course. I sat there, my 63 year old self, and suddenly, I remembered my 20 year old self, sitting at the wheel of my Willy's in New Mexico, leaving the little tiny barrio house on the dirt road, to go waitress. I could just feel the dry blistering heat of the day, the sun's glare, the steering wheel beneath my hands, the weight of my young tiny body upon the seat, leaning back , switching gears, rounding corners, just loving the day. I could remember that feel of the smaller newer body, how it felt to be so brandy new and clueless in so many ways, tempered by the intensity of the pulse of youth, too. That impulse, do you remember? That push that erupted from far within you, mediated by no aging or cautions, just spiraling out the best it could. And then, bam, I was feeling my 63 year old body, its larger size, the weight pressing into the back of the seat, the midday sun's light with the September shade down across my eyes, the ac on flowing comfy cool air across my face, as the sky sent forth small immoderate clouds overhead, the light turned, and I got the green arrow to go.
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