BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… THE DAY BEFORE. A lemon sky gathers, clouds a distant tangerine smudge where the sun is setting on the far western horizon, somewhere over Oklahoma it seems, and the ribbon road is again endless, east versus west, time over and again. The forest ridges tumble away on all sides, faceless, nameless to the 80-mph-travelers on I-44, forest ridges that were not long ago crimson and rust-red, before then, dusky green and thick in the summer heat, now, hazel and gray, umber and dead.
These passing miles are good for a soul worn out from another long season. Introspection comes in many forms and — outside of writing for StateoftheOzarks — I’m much better at journaling in my own head while in the fast left lane, passing another line of trucks and cars on Jerome Hill. Devil’s Elbow, Big Piney, Buckhorn, Brush Creek, Niangua, Sitting quietly in a comfy chair with fancy journal book open, pen poised? Not for me. I get too twitchy. But out here on the open road with freedom for the cost of a now-much-cheaper tank of gas? Here, the mind can go places again.
Belying the lateness of the season, the afternoon sun had been warm, windows open, a fresh breeze that was two-parts springtime and one-part winter in the passing autumn. A good day for cleaning, a good day for thinking, a good day for remembering, of other perfect afternoons now gone, long and loving conversations, a gentle breeze on the skin, and waking again from a dream within a dream. The sky was turning lemon there, too, long-remembered kisses in the gathering dusk, and time passed on too soon.
The crescent moon will be cold tonight as the clouds clear, corona telling of coming snow but for now there is timelessness in this day before, the day before Thanksgiving, but also the day before the next, the day before the continued march of life, of eternal change, of another counted number of thoughts, another counted number of miles, of breaths, of hopes, of dreams, the day before — each in our own way — our lives end.
The miles pass and the mind wanders, to another lemon light sky tinged in tangerine, end of day dying through bare clotheslines, through bleak box elder leaves, dry and crispy as they dropped one-by-one into the kiddie pool ringed with frost-blackened algae, dark reminder of another childhood summer gone. A puppy beats at the back door, smelling leftovers. A green chair that once sat in the corner at grandpa and grandma’s, now sits in another corner and yet still creaks beneath weight of memory. The place smells of turkey and ‘taters and homemade gravy and a spice cake rich with raisins and walnuts and powdered-sugar icing.
The sky that night long ago was clear too, with a passing crescent moon and a dark night’s fortune telling future that ended, as always, with more questions than answers. The old folks in the memory are gone now, as are the children who have instead grown to become all grown up. There is sadness in the success, the passing, marching of time against our will, even against our ignorance. My mom used to mourn the passing of her children as they became adults and I did my best to understand but could not, as my own enthusiasm in hoped-for adulthood and manhood clouded the view when a far-flung future would become my past and I would look back and wonder.
The highway is black now, clouds shrouding starlit sky. Another mile or two, another hour home. Yes, there is freedom here on the open road, freedom and hope and memory and also tears, here, now, again, on the day before.
— Joshua Heston, editor-in-chief, StateoftheOzarks
© StateoftheOzarks 2025
