October has me recalling the time I hitchhiked across Yellowstone through the Lamar Valley to Cooke City in the early fall of 1978. It wasn’t especially cold, just stormy and threatening rain with occasional lightning along a distant ridge of mountains. I stood alone in the vast quiet of a land absent of other humans, just a brisk wind whistling past my ears and no rides in sight. So I sang.
I’ve got the hitchhiker’s blues, standing in the pouring rain,
Thunder is rolling all across my pain.”
I think I composed a whole song in the hour or two I stood there waiting for a ride, not a very good song, but something to occupy the time. The ride finally came, and I soon forgot the song, although this chorus stuck with me, sometimes returning when I’m feeling especially lost. In some ways I guess I’m still waiting for that ride as I stand in the rain with thunder and a gnawing pain of longing for somewhere else, still hoping for a generous act of kindness to take me down new roads to new places.
[Daily post 075 of 260 in my year-long challenge.] ♨