On the other end of the road spectrum, there's Route 395. The southernmost segment of it is a straight line in the desert, perfect visibility. I was passed by somebody on that stretch going at an unreal speed. And I was not exactly a slowpoke. The Mojave is such a strange place. Dust, sand, rock, surreal patches of Joshua trees, always a few cars on the road moving through and never stopping.
Home now, where the cats are pretending indifference and the dogs don't appear to have noticed my absence. Mr Pedia was welcoming, at least.
My copy of the Anna.K Tarot arrived while I was away. Today's agenda: fiddle with this new deck, do laundry, revise Remix story, work out, go bouldering at the climbing gym with friends, collapse.