call of the wild

Jack Londons 'call of the Wild' from book to film to, my cats watching the rain outside the window, watching them , thinking those words sent me off on a mini tangent of creativity  this is where the fun stuff lives.
Finding Stillness in the Underpass: The Art of an unconcerned Traveller
​There is a distinct kind of peace that comes with being entirely sheltered in the middle of a storm.
​Imagine sitting under the thick concrete canopy of a motorway underpass at night. To your side, a well-worn Bergen rucksack rests against the wall. Your knees are drawn halfway to your chest, arms loosely wrapped around them, head held high. Outside the concrete threshold, a slow, steady rain falls through the darkness, each droplet illuminated by the amber flare of streetlights before vanishing into the night. But under the ceiling, it’s dry, still, and surprisingly warm.
​The road ahead is almost completely dry save for the faint sheen of wet tire marks tracking through from the roundabout beyond. Out there, the rain promises cold, soaked clothes and relentless spray. In here, bathed in a soft, humid light that feels almost womb-like against the harsh weather, there is no hurry.
​Hitchhiking often carries a connotation of anxious waiting—watching every pair of headlights with hopeful desperation, wondering if the next car will finally pull over. But sitting here, a subtle smile plays on your lips, eyes catching the warm reflection of the orange glow. You are completely unconcerned whether a ride comes in five minutes or five hours.
​True travel isn't just about reaching the destination; it’s about mastering the art of being exactly where you are. When you trade urgency for contentment, even a concrete motorway shelter on a rainy night becomes a sanctuary.

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