The Long Way Home

When we first moved up here, a trip to Kingston was a "hitch up the wagon, maw...we're goin' to town" kind of deal.  One never knew what we'd bring home: produce and smoked mozzarella from Adams, a carved wooden chest from Home Goods, 80 lbs of cat litter, or all three on any given day.  Often it was nearly dark by the time all the stocking up was done, so we didn't always get to enjoy the breathtaking scenery on the trip home (when we were kids, on one of our yearly pilgrimages to some Southern shoreline, the endless drives--and endless bickering among the three of us crammed in the backseat--were punctuated every hundred miles or so by my father's snarling growl, "shut up and look at the scenery!"  Shockingly, this did NOT inspire any great awe in us for the also endless miles of fields and turnpike).  However, today's trip had one focus: get the items I was picking up for work and get home; this enabled me to bypass the Thruway and breathe deep the Catskill mountains as they snugged up against the outskirts of Saugerties.  The mountains change every day; this afternoon they were soft and green. They begged to be stroked, and I just knew all that lush green would feel like sun-warmed velvet against my palm, cooler where kissed by cloud shadows.  Their Spring-softened curves folded in on each other like the sweet dip in the small of a womon's back, and all I wanted to do was pull over somewhere and watch the sunlight and clouds pay homage to their grace.