This road tastes like butter and distance. I'm not being poetic, I'm being hungry. The hills on both sides are the color of toast, the green fields in the middle are fresh and bright, and the clouds are piled over the ridge like whipped cream that hasn't been touched yet.
I stopped at a roadside stand about ten miles back. Warm corn, sold by a woman who didn't speak my language and handed me change with a look that said eat it while it's hot. I did. I ate it standing on the gravel, and the kernels popped sweet under my teeth.
Then I drove on, and the road kept doing this: curving gently between golden slopes, with the sky opening up ahead like a kitchen window at dawn.
The fog sits in the folds of the hills, white and low. It'll burn off by noon. Until then the whole valley smells like warm grass and cold mist, a combination no candle company has ever managed to copy.
Best meal of the week, and half of it was just looking. The other half was corn. Both were good. I'd do it again tomorrow. #road #hills #fog #roadtrip
