I plan on making a camera, a front car bumper camera that captures the events of the low road at 192 frames per second. So that the next time I drive from Michigan to Tennessee or from Tennessee to Michigan I will have visual documentation of the distinct variations in road kill along that particular North/South route. Michigan deer is far messier (I drove over fifty yards of entrails and blood coming up I-69 near Coldwater and then encountered four other blood-splattered sections before Lansing) than Arkansas armadillos (they just hang out on the side of the road stiff, like footballs with claws, moving only if caught by the wind of an eighteen-wheeler) but both are alluring animals- dead or alive.
I’d like to have a camera covering the low road because I pretty much have the high road under control. I am able to take pictures, text, administer eye drops, and sharpen pencils while driving.
I was in Northern Indiana by the time the sun started to come up and turn Muncie into a setting straight out of a Dutch landscape (or an Enya CD cover):
There is no other way to see the midwest farm country. I know this because I grew up there and all the farmers got up early not just because it is a good time to milk cows but because it looks cool.
And it is all about looks in the end. It was a little over a year ago in Badwater Basin when Bethany and I discovered our true vocational calling, capturing sunsets in our hearts. Sunrises are sunsets somewhere so these count too:
Roadkill to hippy in one entry. I’m available for your next dinner party.
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