Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • What is that feeling when you're driving away from people
    and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? -
    it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we
    lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

    Jack Kerouac

    So I dreamed we were out on the Mother Road, and the road was empty, like the end of the world, stretching from one blue horizon to the other, just tumbleweed and dust ghosts swirling around as we sped through one small, abandoned town after another, leaning into the wind, heading east past empty Edward Hopper diners, gas stations rusted out, past clapboard churches and broken windmills and cracked dry earth, boarded up stores and falling apart pickup trucks. I dreamed you were sitting right there behind me, hanging on for dear life, screaming “We made it! We made it!” And we were laughing and crying so hard, because we were together and because we love each other more than life itself, and because nothing was more important than this wild ride into the unknown new life, and we knew we were breaking free, that we had crossed an invisible river of sorrows, we knew that we were headed toward freedom and the Promised Land somewhere just up ahead across the Great Desert, somewhere at the end of the Universe, the Promised Land, the oasis that we would invent for ourselves, and we knew everything was going to be OK. It was that kind of dream. It was.

    (Photograph by Alex at The Mother Road, in the 3-D virtual world of Second Life)
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.