An alarm sounds. My first conscious thoughts of the morning are coffee and Thoreau. Though unsure of the time, I know I have only a moment before my feet will themselves to the floor in search of shoes and a gas pedal. I’m savoring my final moments rest as I observe the books and paintings occupying the room, sinking deeper into the cocoon of blankets, and thinking of the books I’ve previously owned.
There’s something intimate in holding a piece of unread literature and nurturing it as your own. Unable to duplicate the feeling in web-published works and passing through towns too quickly to properly utilize local libraries, I’ve fallen victim to tables of discounted books. I’ve been trading books like playing cards, hoarding gems and first editions among shifters and cables in the lockers of my van. The various collections of essays and historical biographies have replaced thank you cards and parting gifts, leaving a physical trail to the cities I have passed through all starting with Thoreau in Tempe and leading me here, with Sedaris in Austin.
My thoughts are still with Thoreau and the Mexican-American war that contributed to construction of “Civil Disobedience” when I reach my van and climb aboard to bid adieu to the city. I’m reconstructing paragraphs regarding the importance of living versus transcendence through literature as I switch my GPS from Portuguese to Spanish. I continue north towards Denton, comparing the journey and the destination, and keeping an eye out for used bookstores.
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