Read before burning bridges. 30 days of biking, #27

I’m back at the house no longer there and the flowers across the street from the house, the flowers that seem to follow the unattributable advice to bloom where you’re planted, though because flowers were blooming in place long before any human being thought to encourage such behavior, we might as well ascribe the quote to some uprooted flower that immediately gained the ability to move and feed itself and think, and create not just an alphabet but an entire language—as well as the means to express and record it.

Bloom where you’re planted, bastards. I’m shakin’ the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I’m gonna see the world.

A primitive flower. A flower from which all wanderlust flows. A flower that gave rise to the eternal struggle between the domestic and the foreign, the up and the down, the inborn tendency to shake it all around and the linear nature of time.

A flower you’ve never heard of because everything you know is wrong.

Unless, of course, everything you know is telling you to send today’s missive to everyone you know.

Everyone, everywhere.

I gotta go.

April 27, 12.8 miles.

About 16incheswestofpeoria

Former bicycle mechanic, current peruser of books, feeder of birds.
This entry was posted in #30daysofbiking, bicycle, History, Off topic, Travel and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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