Here We Are

Sandhills sunset

This is the magic hour in Western Nebraska. A warm haze blankets the land.  The late sun caresses every surface causing the countryside to blush a gentle amber glow.

Just a few months ago we lived every minute of the day side by side.  Now our time is made up of stolen moments like these.  We finish a ten hour day, finally together soaking in the last few seconds of July. The world is smaller from the tailgate of this Ford flatbed. Reminiscing on the PanAm cannot be avoided. Contemplating the present is as transitory as the way we manufactured it. When it comes to dissecting tomorrow the lingering question mark feels both ominous and liberating.

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