In The Hudson Valley
It's the Friday before Labor Day and I awoke to a surprising chill in the air. I should be at work today, but instead, I'm screaming downstate alongside the Hudson river. From my center console, I hear the buzz and the beeps of my iPhone - emails, text messages, and phone calls from work, I'm certain - and I switch the device to silent mode. Outside my window, Stuyvesant passes by, then Coxsackie, then Hudson. I toy with the idea of never turning around.
I want this day to last forever. To never cease the feel of summer's end blowing through the fingertips of my outstretched hand as I motor along New York Route 9G. How many hours has it been, anyway? Does the life behind me even continue in my absence? Surely, it does, but the depth of blues that begin with the mountains and transition into the faraway skies make it seem like even the impossible is probable. Here, in this place, in the Hudson Valley.