My heart jumps every time we see another damn trump campaign sign on a lawn. We leave our beloved Sou’wester and follow the Colombia River inwards. The calm before the storm is upon us. Dark grey clouds swarm above. We pass a sign that says; “Eat Jesus.” I don’t know what it means… Two pensive and confused women are we, as we drive through Oregon State. We laugh and perpetually reflect each other’s disbelief with wide eyed giggly stares as we nervously inquire with every bartender and friendly stranger we meet, “what do you think is going to happen tomorrow?” they all seem unsettlingly unconcerned— “the Trump voters won’t have ID cards that will match their voting addresses, they aren’t the smartest of the bunch”— while all the polls show the opponent's neck and neck , we are holding our breath. Will tomorrow be the Trump-pocolypse? What will become of our beloved Planet? My internal world is matching the surreal political landscape, twisting and sparkling with fear and hope. I clamor for a reassuring perspective. I want to believe these folks when they say that this ego-maniacal raging fascist won’t be elected, but the possibility seems quite real.
ONWARDS TO ANACORTES! (At least we will be as close as possible to the Canadian border if today is indeed the last day of our world as we know it)
Nikki & Ora