This is a bit of prose about my experiences when traveling a backwoods road to work.
|The Winding Road
I travel to work on a winding road that has curves and
banks and rivers that make the fog crawl across the road.
The road passes a few houses, and goes through a village,
but everything is quiet. There are only a few cars and no school buses.
I feel like I am the only one in the entire world out at that time of morning.
I haven’t had enough sleep and the heat blowing in the car makes it hard to stay awake.
I talk to myself.
I roll down the window, even though it’s only about 10 degrees outside.
I just went over the yellow line and that scared the daylights out of me.
I’m not having any trouble staying awake now.
One of those early mornings there was a real bad storm,
and as I rounded a curve, Bam! A tree had fallen across
the road and I just couldn’t stop in time.
I wasn’t hurt, thank God, and the car was only hurt a little,
so I was able to drive away, but it sure shook me up.
One of these days, soon, I won’t be traveling that road anymore.
This job will be ending. I don’t know when, but I know it will, and
I’ll probably have to hit the highway along with the rest of the world.
I’m gonna miss traveling that old winding road.