driving

You wake up and look out the window. For the first time in what seems like years, you're up with the sun. The thin rays peek up from the horizon, over the trees that had just regained their leaves after a long winter. You can't help but walk up to the window, staring outward. It's not often that you get to enjoy the slight chill of spring mornings.

You do your routine and, at last, you step outside. The air is crisp and damp. Even now you feel the dew hovering in the air, soaking ever so slightly into your clothes. The sun has risen a little bit higher now, and you can feel a slight warmth breaking through the coolness. You look up and see that the clouds that had built up in the night are starting to give way, drifting apart and letting hints of blue sky show themselves. A hazy grey light bathes everything you can see. You breath in, the cold humidity dripping its way into your lungs, and breath out, sending little clouds of your own out through your mouth.

It's the perfect time for a drive, you think. You grab your keys and get into your car, turning on the windshield wipers. The dewdrops are flung away, allowing you to see as you back out of your driveway. Even as you go further and further into town, the streets are mostly empty. No fighting your way through irritating traffic at this time of day. Still, it's not enough to be restricted by stop lights and signs. You need the free, open roads. Turning off, you watch the town get smaller and smaller in your rear view mirrors, heading down the old country road.

There's so few other cars that you can afford to speed just a little. The road is also wide enough to where you can take the occasional glance out the side. You watch the flat land rush by, dotted by trees and old crumbling barns. It's funny, for you to be in the driver's seat this time. You remember an entire childhood of sitting in the back of your parents' van, pressing your nose against the window, watching the very same landmarks dash past. How little has changed, even though you feel so much different. You open the window a little, letting that cool air flood inside.

You're miles away from home now, but hardly lost. Nostalgia is a great map, and you know all these roads. The only sound you can hear is the calm chatter of NPR on the radio, but you don't pay much mind to what's being said. You're in a trance, and the roads you travel are the veins of your wandering spirit, the car an extension of your will. All your worries and cares fly out the window, shrieking and crying as they fade into nothingness, and you are free.

By now the sun has risen, warming the car inside and out. The magic is hardly gone, but you should be heading back now. You have a life to get back to. Turning off, you start a different path back home, and the trip into the past starts anew as you once again return yourself to reality.