Once more, I was on the road (back to the car for the time being, so no Kalki to retire in) and, despite my best-laid plans, I tired unexpectedly and, thus, needed an impromptu place to stay. Next exit, I'm stopping, I decided -- and, as it so happened, the next exit presented only a single hotel, another Econolodge. It would make my third EL in a row, this time in a sleepy little South Carolina town that I'd never heard of prior to stopping off there in need of a roof over my head.
In the end, my entire stay would prove a repeat of its predecessors: rather pleasant, both my room and my yoga. When hunting out my yoga-spot, I saw it at once: at the lot's far corner, between two picturesque trees of a species I couldn't identify (ever notice how many folks seem to be plant-life experts? I'm not one of them). Free from the allergies that had plagued me up north, I did my yoga in the company of a burgeoning sun, a tranquil meadow, and the pair of unidentified trees. With my eyes closed, I'd never have thought myself in a small strip of grass in between a highway-side hotel and a busy Waffle House.
Afterward, I rolled up my mat with a gentle, contented smile, feeling ready to finish my interrupted drive. How strange it is, the places that nourish us.
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