The Summer the Map Ran Out of Ink Posted by: Margot | August 12th | Filed under: Growing Pains, Road Trips, Letting Go
That last part was bratty. I admit it.
I can’t describe it right. That’s the amateur part of this blog. I’m not a poet. But imagine if someone took all the colors of a bonfire—gold, rust, deep purple—and poured them into a crack in the earth a mile wide. There was no guardrail. No gift shop. No plaque. Just us, and the silence, and the feeling that we’d found something that wasn’t supposed to exist. blog amateur
But Dad looked at the map. Then at the road. Then at the gas gauge. For the first time in his entire life, he said something I didn’t expect. The Summer the Map Ran Out of Ink