I finished my final days, Body-Mind Centering. Meghan and I enjoyed what was to be our last weekend together (for the summer at least). The plan was the I stay for her final week of classes, minding the homestead and hearth, keeping her company in the evenings, but things rarely go as planned and the day before her classes began, she gave me the (soft) boot. She drove me to the bus station. We shared a small cry and I boarded a bus to Atlanta, because it was one of the few departing that night, and I like like the High Museum therein. It was a real red-eye, with a transfer at 4:30AM in South Carolina or somewhere terrible. When I got to Atlanta, the sun was rising and the bums began to re-animate. I was pretty loaded with expendable gear, and lightened my load considerably on the walk across town to the High by being suggestion-robbed of pens, lighters, road-foods, rolling papers, I saw it as a positive thing- my departure was sudden and I didn't have much time to prioritize and pare-down my gear. Later, I would ditch my unicycle (no joke, I was traveling with a unicycle) and my hiker's backpack after the rusty buckles began to break. After walking for hours, I found a quiet spot downtown where an artist (or team of) had built a series of beautiful rope pavilions, with soft rope benches for weary walkers. I was a weary, sleep deprived walker if nothing else, and the pavilions took a likeness to a desert mirage. I slept until the rantings from a homeless man ramped me back into the waking state. The High was just around the corner, and now open. I did my museum thing, documenting paintings and sculptures into a small sketchbook. I was drawing well because I had made a commitment now to Ringling College, and knew these could be of the last of my undisciplined type. I had lunch in the cafe and found a flight to Detroit on my phone. I bought a ticket and was off to Motor City that afternoon.
