This color is swollen and sloppy. It is weighted with humidity and too heavy for the tree to hold. It is dripping down buildings and melting across sidewalks. If our bus stops driving, the highway may be lost forever.

Keep moving. In Florida, in June. Keep moving. Else face the fate of the massive cypress. With prehistoric fingers, Spanish moss takes hold, so slowly there is no need to surrender.

The land believes it was born this way and will be this way forever...

No one else seems to notice these things. How desperate the effort to go forward without looking back, to maintain the touring lifestyle without missing your best girlfriend, your grandma, your pillow...that last city. Just a moment outside in the thick, tropical heat and you may slow like the rock, succumb to the vines, settle down and give up traveling forever. Forward motion is survival to the touring artist, and at 80mph from Tampa to Tallahassee, at least for now my cast mates seem safe.

So let me praise the air conditioning that maintains their illusions---may they never have to worry about these things. The cell phones and Macintosh’s that have become their best friends---may they never be lonely again. Noah’s feet atop the seat, may sleep keep him sane. Kekoa edits another movie on his laptop pal. Sophia knows every word to every song on that Ipod. One of the boys knows ten women in each state.

And I know one thing---not myself, no, not comfort---but this color.

It’s not easy being....

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