Riley welch is a poet from texas living in colorado. She posts three original poems a week. 

Hot

The sun came blazing in through the window of my car as I drove north and the sun set in the west. 

Since beginning a job where I drive parallel to the Rocky Mountains south to work and north on my way home, I have become increasing familiar with the direction of the sun. 
I have, in some cases, 
taken to tying a bandana around my head and under my chin, to keep the heat off my cheeks. 
I am constantly worried about sun damage. 
Especially since I drive with the rising sun on my left side to work and the setting sun on my way home. 

When I drive home home, not just home -- that is to my home state and city -- I must endure the rising sun,
but as it sets, I am blazing eastward, and usually miss it. 
Conversely, on the way back, the rising sun is at my back and the setting sun etches itself into my cheeks once I realign myself parallel to the Rockies. 

 Have I chosen this back and forth because I enjoy it? Have I chosen it to escape a place I love? Have I chosen to fuel my drive there with adrenaline and my drive back with tears on purpose? 

These are questions that at this time I cannot answer, I just know that my longing for Texas has not ended. And I am not sure it it will. 

I do know that the setting sun is blazing into my car, and I am getting warm, as my car climbs back up to it's Mile High altitude to sit opposite my sea level attitude, until I re-acclimate. 

7/2/2018

 

Waiting on a Saturday

Last week