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City lights, bright, colorful, and so very overbearing; fade slowly in the mirrors. Moonlit landscapes unfolding before me, the gleam of my headlights adding to unnatural shadows. Trees in springtide fresh bloom, spreading their youthful branches in aberrant shades. Fence lines creating wrinkles beside the macadam. Reflections glare in staccato linear motion from the center line.

The wind howling through my open window, nearly blotting out the whine of 18 tires rolling on asphalt and an impressive growl of power from my diesel engine. The open road welcomes my lonesome wanderlust. I feel at home here, among the nights desolation.

Flashes of lightening along a far distant horizon. A stark realization that people may be losing more than I could imagine. Not many days before the savagery of nature’s power demonstrated not so far from where I am now. Souls wander now, riding the winds, whispering their lost dreams. I hear, feel, them as I shedd tears for lives, young and old, lost to a twisted fate.

Desolate solitude.

American Red Cross

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