When you see clouds turn this color, the sun obscured, visibility shrunk, the odds of it being the ” End of the World ” increase. I expect to witness armed Angels riding down out of the smoke on horses breathing fire, drawn swords ready to take off unrighteous heads and cut out un-repenting hearts.

On the way to California to see Chris in a trauma center,whisked close to death in a car accident, these clouds are brewing in the desert north of Phoenix. The clouds are the color of burning rubbish caused by forest fires to the north of Flagstaff,smoke spread by strong winds. The e mail from his mom read starkly , ” Chris has been in an accident. It’s an emergency. Call me. ”

Ancient man must have seen these same clouds.

They would have said the Gods were angry.

We say a camper was careless with his matches.

Pulled off the road, taking pictures, I preview of the end of the world.

We don’t all get out of this life the same way, but where we go next is a true travel mystery.

On our final trip we travel light and don’t need a suitcase.

 

 

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