5 p.m. New Hampshire: Raining hard on a cool summer day, I
put my hand into moist soil,
8 a.m. San Francisco: There is a frigid breeze, as frost dwells on
my Petunias in the air softened window.
15:00 Tokyo: My eyes, sleep ridden, begin to close on the Tokyo
skyline. I want to see your electronic glow, your strange
culture that wears cough masks!
10 p.m. Ventnor, NJ: The simple hum of cars and trucks coexists
with the dry, sea-hungry sirens that blow into my face.
2 a.m. In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, on a sailing ship: I
am reminded of my home as the wind reaches its brink
5 a.m. Gobi Desert: The sky is the limit as our caravan reaches
the hostel. The pastel sky suits the frigid kisses of the red
constellations, closest to human form as they will ever be.
3 p.m. Northern Guatemala: I drink the solid bean paste. The
humidity suits its thick, pungent splendor.
4:30 a.m. My home on 1230 Wrack Road: I stumble into my
machine made tank top and bicycling shorts, electrical
tape gels onto my road bike.
- Sam Ritz