Counting mile-markers on the road back
The Saint Anthony Falls Bridge took me over the Mississippi once, I looked out to see where the 35W lay, not too long after it took it's bow into that big river.
And I spent a few days of a winter blowing around Iowa, I ran up and down a highway of the same number, near a different river, though, the Des Moines. The one that gave that city it's name.
I don't know how much I liked those places, maybe one a little more than the other, but that could've just been because of the sunshine, and how one was a little bit nicer than the other. Or at least warmer, anyways. I bet it's still windy on the run down from Ames.
I fell in love on 35, too. Somewhere outside of Waco, it was a hot night, and I had a feeling like something was there, just out in front of me, the kind of thing headlights don't pick up on. Maybe it was coming in through the windows, or maybe it was that song on the radio. I guess it just could've been that Texas weather they're always talking about when you see the first star in the sky.
I wonder where that girl's gone, I guess I won't be seeing her in any of those places. Matter of fact it's starting to feel like it's been too long since I've seen those places myself. Don't think I care to go back to Waco though, no need to visit the kind of place where night-fall brings the thoughts of one who stayed up way past late.
The remembering is good enough itself, sometimes anyway. And really she never wanted to be any kind of place that old highway would've taken us. Just like she never much cared for the kind of radio folks'd play out that way. I always figured it had something to do with an old man of hers back east who was still kicking around, we were never really good at talking much when it came to those sort of things.
And now I guess if you add it all up I just wasn't really much for her kind of guy, it seems some folks-even when they travel light-carry a whole lot of baggage. I guess life can drag the best of us down like that sometimes, the sturdiest of oaks and the rolling-est of stones alike all have to stretch their legs out on that lonesome highway sooner or later.
At least we'll always have that night in Waco, and maybe that's the most we can expect out of life, a soft night, somewhere real quiet, where you see the stars the way they were before anything meant anything. You may not fall in love out there on thirty-five, but you can always dream it, and soon enough some little girl'll be dancing before your eyes, just out there up the road aways, just beyond your headlights.
And I spent a few days of a winter blowing around Iowa, I ran up and down a highway of the same number, near a different river, though, the Des Moines. The one that gave that city it's name.
I don't know how much I liked those places, maybe one a little more than the other, but that could've just been because of the sunshine, and how one was a little bit nicer than the other. Or at least warmer, anyways. I bet it's still windy on the run down from Ames.
I fell in love on 35, too. Somewhere outside of Waco, it was a hot night, and I had a feeling like something was there, just out in front of me, the kind of thing headlights don't pick up on. Maybe it was coming in through the windows, or maybe it was that song on the radio. I guess it just could've been that Texas weather they're always talking about when you see the first star in the sky.
I wonder where that girl's gone, I guess I won't be seeing her in any of those places. Matter of fact it's starting to feel like it's been too long since I've seen those places myself. Don't think I care to go back to Waco though, no need to visit the kind of place where night-fall brings the thoughts of one who stayed up way past late.
The remembering is good enough itself, sometimes anyway. And really she never wanted to be any kind of place that old highway would've taken us. Just like she never much cared for the kind of radio folks'd play out that way. I always figured it had something to do with an old man of hers back east who was still kicking around, we were never really good at talking much when it came to those sort of things.
And now I guess if you add it all up I just wasn't really much for her kind of guy, it seems some folks-even when they travel light-carry a whole lot of baggage. I guess life can drag the best of us down like that sometimes, the sturdiest of oaks and the rolling-est of stones alike all have to stretch their legs out on that lonesome highway sooner or later.
At least we'll always have that night in Waco, and maybe that's the most we can expect out of life, a soft night, somewhere real quiet, where you see the stars the way they were before anything meant anything. You may not fall in love out there on thirty-five, but you can always dream it, and soon enough some little girl'll be dancing before your eyes, just out there up the road aways, just beyond your headlights.
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