The bumps in the road become routine,
when you travel them back and forth for coin.
The goods must be delivered, everyone needs fed.
In this routine it is easy to start slipping from the world,
anxious to get to each market, I missed the bumps and the joy.
One summer day my travels came to a pause, in the air I heard songs.
Shepherds called to their flocks, at first there was unison, then harmony,
the voices would blend then stand out, each independent but still a community.
I knew that was what I had forgotten, in the race to the market, community got rotten.
At the next town a boy hungrily watched carts go by
I motioned him forward to help me unload my wares.
Each apple he took home, now part of a song.
Fruit went to one vendor, wool and linens to another.
I listened closer to their stories and didn't rush on.
Each was a destination, each a new verse in the song.
There is music on the road, the journey isn't to be opposed.
Each stone thumps on the wheel the rhythm of the day.
The birds and breeze bring the melody. I live the song.
Caravan Journal #24
by Charlie Parkhurst
Attribution: Charlie Parkhurst
Age Estimate: 22yrs ago
Background: Charlie Parkhurst was a caravan driver in the southern cities. Later in their career, after a few runs to Etonia, they retired to a small house in the town. Charlie was an active and positive member of the community but very private and did not share any stories. Upon Charlie's death a collection of journals were discovered and donated to the library. The early journals were more notes on items carried and directions. After this entry the journals take on a lyrical form and are the focus of several sage research projects.