Texas is big. I live here and I thought I knew that. But I didn't really know until we drove across and north up near Amarillo--farther than the drives from Los Angeles to Tucson or New York City to Raleigh.
You can drive a long way in the Texas Panhandle without finding a bathroom.
Questions rise from the landscape. In hardscrabble Rockwood, estimated population 29, College Street is paved for a car length or two before rutting into dirt. I wondered what kind of learning the optimistic founders experienced there, and what a Rockwood resident gets now.
A little farther along, the scene posed this question: Do you think goats see llamas as authority figures?
We rode on two-lane SH 153 into the High Plains, a quiet land mysterious in sameness, where blue sky washed vast overhead as harvest-ready hay and cotton stretched to the horizon.
Until giants stalked the boundary of earth and sky, and the road passed between their pastures, forward into their turning blades before veering beyond sight.
If travelers pause their journeys, standing at the edge, a constant wind flows a low-hum song.
I brought 15 seconds back for you.
Copyright 2009-2010 Kathleen Scott, for Hill Country Mysteries. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.