As we drive down tree covered 6A, my thoughts are 100% focused on the excel spreadsheet in front of me. It is not until I close my computer and look up that I notice where we are. It's funny how a town I only see once a year can seem so commonplace. It's like I was made for this place and it for me. The routine's always the same: books, beach, food comas, laughter, talent shows, the old man who fills the pot holes and cracks with new asphalt. Year after year, his job never seems to progress and yet he never seems phased.
Every year there seems to be a new addition to the crew as well and the welcoming of some new excitement or job or move or struggle. It's usually a mix of them all but it doesn't matter because for a handful of days the only thing that matters is 6A. 6A refocuses life. It's the tiny reminder that it'll all be okay. It gives me breath and it freezes time. In fact, time doesn't even exist when you are driving down 6A. Maybe that's why the old man continues filling the holes. Maybe he's just enjoying the summer heat...
1 comment:
2 things:
write a book/books & Utah misses you (and so do its residents).
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