The Comute

July 3, 2009

It is always just from here to there and back again.

The need to be someplace else, to trade time for the means to live. The road ever unfurling ahead, small sections both revealed and hidden by curve and dip of surrounding landscape. Views concentrated through windshield and rear view mirrors. Speed and anticipated reaction time dictate the necessary focus and yet the mind, at times, drifts with the moment.

The roadway, cyclically bracketed by farm fields, giving way to small village centers and larger towns in soft morning light, the shadows of dusk and quieting folds of full night. Preparing for the day and later unwinding from its effects. Breathe in, breathe out.

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Thoughts still so vivid that it seems that the mind has just returned from a momentary distraction. The years have somehow never begun to tarnish the memory. Life in suspended animation mode. And yet from another’s point of view so trivial a moment in the grand scheme of things, hardly worth the tiniest of storage space allotment in the brain, What? When? Sorry, don’t recall.
Disappointment. What has affected and changed and molded one over the years is at the same time inconsequential to so many others.
Same destination, different journey.