DAY 1135: Middle of Nowhere

(posted on day 1136)

I drove miles and miles and miles past pine trees, cotton fields, scrub brush, and buildings (stores, houses, barns, outbuildings) being reclaimed by nature. Those fascinated me. I would have like to be able to stop and photograph them. Here and there were homes with signs of occupancy, stop signs, churches, and a rare store with gas pumps, deer corn, bait, and I don't know what else. There were only a few other vehicles that would eventually pass me, and a few headed in the opposite direction.

More than a mile off the main road, in the middle of nowhere, was a boat ramp on the Savannah River I found using a boondocking app.

I walked carefully down the ribbed ramp, my left knee clicking. I was in South Carolina. Across the river was Georgia. The reflections on the water were like reflections in a mirror.

I poured some of the Mother Water into the river with a blessing for healing, offering a flower as well.

I imbue this water with love, peace, and healing. I offer it knowing the magic of water will spread those blessings from here to the sea, then, someday, as a raindrop falling on me. Water is life. I pledge to defend you.

And, like a good water witch, I collected some river water in a clean glass jar.

Across from where I parked was a shrine in loving memory of Ron Owens IV (1-22-1982 to 2-26-2022) arranged around what looked like a tombstone, as if, perhaps, his ashes were buried there. The cross to the right and behind it appeared to also be for him.

It was so humid I was sweating. There was a peculiar odor I could not name, and an army of bugs I also couldn't name.

I retreated to the bus with the window open. I made a meal, worked on articles for PaganPages, and watched day become night with a beautiful sunset, and then night become darker, but not as dark as I expected. Clouds kept the stars hidden, but there was a soft glow on the river and a light behind the tree line. A small solar light illuminated the shrine. The bus was also not completely dark. The solar set-up had a blue blinking light and a back-lit panel on the wall, and two tiny green dots of light in the battery bank in the cupboard below. There was a tiny green dot of light on the control switch of a light plugged in above the sink. The control panel for the refrigerator across from that glowed softly at the wall two inches from it. My cPap machine on a shelf high above my head added a tiny bit of light indicating it was on.

The silence was deeper than the dark, but still not complete. A plane would occasionally fly overhead and bugs smacked into the windows. The fridge had a soft purr when it would run for a minute or two every so often, and there was a whirring sound coming from the solar bank.

So, my word for the day in the #30DaysOfGoddess journal I keep, was "meet." And I was greeted by a dozen or so friendly people along the route, waving or commenting on what a cool home I had. So, I thought that fit nicely. But tonight, I realized it was my fear I was to meet. There was no cell service (for Verizon at least) and no internet connection. It was a bit creepy at first, knowing I had no connection to the outside world. No way to call for help if I needed it. But when I got still, I felt safe. The place welcomed me. I felt held.

My days would typically run from 9:30am to 2am, but this time change altered that. I find myself going to bed after it's been dark for three hours or so. Like now ...