the return is almost never given the dignity of a journey.
The same compelling importance that it attaches to the departures.
But the road continues to speak even while us back.
Life sometimes you get the feeling that it remained at home waiting, ready to be grabbed, twisted, straightened.
So we understand each other.
There is plenty to do.
life, I said, the images you there waiting for you and this is sometimes like.
find things as you left, for better or for worse, but having some new ideas on how to address them.
The miles slip under the wheels and I look at the signs for the airport in Lisbon with the feeling that the real journey has yet to begin.
also because the return will be by accident on a road different from the first leg.
This opportunity helps.
So the fact is that it can also happen to be in the midst of endless green forests of tall trees.
"What are pine trees? No trees! But as firs, maples are maples!" that even if I lean out the window I can not see the top and in the heat of midday to realize that it's crazy not to resist the temptation to stop the car on the side of the road, get off and still stay there even for a few seconds.
Will that seem right to pay tribute to shadow the silence of crickets and wind and leaves no one expected to meet in a return journey and that all look great pulling silent sighs.
But do not tell the driver, simply choosing to change a cd that suit you and keep going without stopping.
And the trees look through the dusty glass and sniff the air approaching the nose to crack open the window.
That 's what I hate returns.
The dull predictability that we want to give it.
But the road continues to speak to us and give us advice. The road
said "stop that idiot ... stop ... there is no rush to make a list that is not enough things to do to know what to do. "
said the road stopped short, I was silent and who was driving the other hand said" If you need to pee next to the motorway services that we meet I will stop. "
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