I have no simple words to describe how I've been feeling. The closest I can come is an extended meditation state. It is a serious feeling but not melancholy. I feel still and hushed and intent, like when you suddenly spy a bird close to you and want to watch for a while and not scare it away. It's been this way for a while.

Recently we were in eastern Oregon. It was a disaster of a trip in one way, but there were also surprises. The feeling didn't start there, but it accelerated its growth.

The drive took about eight hours each way because we made so many stops. It takes five hours if driven straight through without stopping, which is for me still a long time to be in a car. I'm not a good traveler normally. I am always so focused on the destination that the time spent getting there is valueless and therefore a burden.

I drove there, and Scott drove back. It didn't make any difference, I was so inside the moment it never felt too long, it just was. I couldn't stop looking everywhere, inhaling it visually, the changing vegetation and feel of the air from moist, dark, green to dry, bright, vivid blue. I felt resentful of the neat, brilliant green patches of irrigated fields we'd see occasionally, offended on behalf of the land.

I had a dream once that I'd made a home in the desert and it felt like a sacred place, a wholly right place, beautiful and sensuous. It felt very real.

The inhabited areas we passed through were not pleasant. Dairy Queen, Thriftway, Les Schwab, cowboys and farmers. But we'd drive out a ways, and there would be the great, sensuous, bare rolling hills, and the streams not too cold to swim in, and the cottonwoods shimmering in the breeze. And no people, except for us.

Sufjan Stevens - Romulus via indie muse