It’s as flat as
a map, this land. The sky expands and expands and expands. Beneath the sky, rows of trees jutting like arrows into the horizon grow above and below the land. Wire fences and wooden posts form lines over the icy fields. My car skims across the road.
I'm on the way to visit for a weekend, from one midwest state across another. Change of scenery. Change of tempo. Change in their, my, their life, lives, living. Per request, a case of Hefiweissen (which I discover I like- ie: change) jostles in the trunk.
At a Midwestern's core, a drive like this is far from boring- at least for these eyes. You don’t see much on the drive, humming along 94W for miles and miles- just a lot of the same thing. It’s the perfect way to set the stage
for what happens next:
the sun falls.
You can see its every burning horizon plunge- how it pulls the clouds down
with it and stirs color into a commotion of art. The
silent land is yelling in the heavens. It’s all there, every shaft of pure gold and all you do is watch.
Cars drive on as
normal. Telephone poles and silos anchored to the ground. Trees bridge the horizon alongside barns. Horses tread the snow. Desolate houses appear. The feeling that no one is really around is imminent.
All this ticking
going on! Miles and heart beats, blinking and opening, sleeping and waking, and it's all counting for something. Isn’t it
peculiar that the familiar things in life take you to every unfamiliar place?
A new day is close by while the very one you are in is swept away in a hush, sky brush, and glimmer of gold.
Post a Comment