Flying above Nevada always clears my thoughts and calms the turbulent waters of my worries that I rarely express. I have set foot in this state only twice but have flown over its vast gray-tan barren sheets of emptiness hundreds of times.
It is my comfort state.
Perhaps it has too much sky, but when you are in the sky that is less worrisome. My demeanor of calm is always so deceptive to the point of turning me into a sponge for the woes of my many circles of dysfunctional peers.
Nevada is perfect place to release them where they will have plenty of desert soil to rest in and bake away in the sun. Worries are always so rooted in ill conceived visions of the future that likely may never come to pass. Yet it is hard not to go there even if it is a fly over of a future that I will never have to live. Is it any less real than the Nevada landscape that I may never touch but feel is so acutely a part of me? Did it every happen at all? I I see names from the past and I want to change their last name to Nevada. Vision of tan and grey blowing in the wind.