I sit on steel warmed by the sun. Rocking side to side as the terrain dictates. Cactus, yucca, willows, kosha, everything passes by and gets smaller and smaller until it fades away or my eyes are diverted by something else. Pressure on the back of my head is proportional to the noise in my ears. I open my mouth and turn my head to the side with my tongue sticking out. It tastes like butter, it always has tasted like the best butter in the world. Soon, my tongue is dry, and it slides back into the warm, moist recesses of the cave in my face that it calls home. A prehistoric pink dinosaur salamander pulling its head back in, out of the weather to go back to sleep or cuddle with the white stalactites and stalagmites. Nothing leaves my line of vision until I let it go. Cows pass by standing there munching grass with huge, innocent eyes staring at these humans in their noisy machine that frequents the hills where they roam. Rocking side to side, a bump as we cross a cow trail, the wind pushing against the back of my head, the smell of the grass and sage and the taste of the wind. Me in my king’s seat. Another beside. I like riding backwards in the back of a pickup truck.
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