Caravan (1)

      “Just came to say goodbye, Nar. I’m heading off for Nashville and don’t expect you’ll still be here when I return, seeing as how it’s starting to get too cold to keep sleeping out here.”

This he says to me from the stairs of my caravan - his right foot on the third step, his elbow propped on his knee, his hand caressing the brim of his hat. He doesn’t want to come all the way inside, doesn’t have the time for that, but has something to share.

      “Uh, listen, we’ve done a lot of talking these past weeks, right?, and your presence here has become less and less questionable. I didn’t much like having you here in the beginning, as you know, and when I found out your reasons for hanging around Big Pink, I damn near threw you out. But once we really started getting to know one another, you won over my respect. I leave you with that. And with this…”

From the pocket of his jacket, he removes a brown notebook and extends it to me with his left hand and a half-smile.

      “You’ll know what to do with this, surely, seeing how those of us who write are also expert recyclers.”

He tips his hat to me gently, his head leaning to the right and turns to go. As if in slow motion, he begins descending the slope and I hear him say “Good luck!”

Dylan is gone.