Friday, January 21, 2011
I drive to and from work on 80 miles of back roads. 40 each way. And by back roads, I mean those roads that don't have any yellow paint. Those roads that hug cow pastures, corn fields, untamed wood & quiet little homes that seek no more attention than the random dandelion that blurs its way by. Those roads that, on occasion, don't mind being anything more than the earth itself.
I find my solace along that asphalt, along that gravel, along that dirt. I find peace in the sleeping hills and snoring mountains. I find a moment of grace and clarity in the cold, quenched breath of the early morning light as it creeps its way across the pine and oak. Stealing its way into the moss & fern.
When the day is done and my work is temporarily put on hold, I lose myself in the fading golden shadows of a setting sun. It always finds a way to melt into, between, beneath, and amidst those knotted knuckles of stout hickory posts. Those quiet, sentimental, regiments whose families are built upon barbed wire & intent.
I am that wandering path. I am those forlorn hills. I am that stoic mountain range. I am that fence. That is who I am.
Find an environment that fits you, melds with you, and defines you.
Then notice the Drive.
Because it has already noticed You.