For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed highways—highways to real places, highways to imaginary ones; highways that moved fluidly thru time & space—into the future, into the past; highways to people, highways to nowhere.
We live in time—it’s our element. Place, yes, too—so crucial—but above all time. We live in past & future & present at all times concurrently, & in living in those times that are all “present” & also all “absent,” we build highways out of longing. I long for times & places & people. I’ve always been a person beset with longing—I realize I’m not unique in this.
As the years have passed, the fierce passions associated with longing have mellowed, its true—the fruit of the late summer: September song. The longing now more often than not comes either as melancholy or gratitude. As I’m melancholic by nature, this is the baseline—but I can get to that other place, too.
Dreaming highways—no one sings about this better than the incomparable Gillian Welch.