recycling Vermont

this time last year i was in New Hampshire, en route to Vermont, still oblivious to the imminent perils of border crossing bus stops. but this is beside the point.

the point is:

Vermont is like... fornicating Buddhas outside Woodstock and the drift of hot air balloons over the Quichee Gorge, gorging on pumpkin seeds in White River Junction.

Vermont is like... picking up hitchhikers holding park service hats for deposit in Burlington and angry bus station declarations by employees of Vermont Transit, downtown cafes with sad women, legs white from the long winter, the slow spring and cut glass eyes, blue as the ones I left behind.

Vermont is like... the sunset over Lake Champlain after a long day of writing and meditating, trips to the Hog Island market seeking hot chocolate and finding topsoil, six bags for ten dollars.

Vermont is like... sleeping windows open with 90 year old nightgowns under my pillow and dreams so crisp as Plattsburgh breezes across the water, learning about karma and the trembling Fear on the long ride back to Boston, still shaking, trying to breathe, sitting next to a middle age woman from Montreal with lust in my heart.