My days in Abiquiú
and the surrounding area have saturated my consciousness.
I have been soaked with scenery. The landscape has become
a typical backdrop. There is so much aesthetic
that I have become culturally eccentric--an enchantment
that has compelled me to spontaneously pullover to the
side of the highway just to indigenate with some horses
and cows. (See
the video footage for yourself!) This eccentricity
has not only made the locals
take notice, but the cows were getting pretty weirded-out
as well. The only exception were the horses. With the
human company that I did keep, at the bed and breakfast,
my water-drought shower funk was as welcoming as a Franklin-fish
fragrance, which made me wonder, have I wandered too
much for Georgia--in
the middle of nowhere?
In my search, as a tourist,
I was permitted to interlope naïvely; however, the
reality was that I was an explorer
on a mission to learn the lay of the land in the hopes
of finding the Apparition.
I did find what belongs, but what I found had not
exalted me to the heavens, nor propelled me to the abyss.
Apparently, what I found and learned was that I had become
of the land.
"Are you planning on coming back, Edward,"
asked my host as she handed me my receipt for the stay.
I did not want to commit myself, so I did not say exactly.
If I were to return, I would not be a tourist or an explorer.
For I was briefed by my host's husband earlier in the
week as to the clothes that I was supposed to wear, and
the vehicle I was supposed to drive, as well as what trails
I was supposed to stick to ensure citizenship.
There was no mention of my attitude.
I suppose that I became an Abiquiúan
sometime during my visit, but I don't know when. As I
roamed about, I took in the sights, sounds and smells
of home while in the daylight, and crafted home while
in the dark of the night--consciousness
real as real.
I realized that I was becoming afflicted by my surroundings,
by this homesickness:
for I had found a new way for me to see the light just
by dark happenstance. Fortunately, I was able to document
I had found my belongings here. I tourist. I explorer.
I wanderer? I wonder.
Why should one return when the visit is worth remembering?
What remains here are Georgia's
trappings, a wonderful escape.
I thought to myself, "Better git while the getting's
good, 'cause I got no longer no business beez-being here!"
I packed-up my belongings, leaving home
for home, eating drive-thru
along the way.