ROADS
Do you have a favorite road to take drives on? This is brought to mind because the weather has finally turned lovely around here and we are thinking of getting out of "Dodge" for a drive this weekend--maybe a sort of delayed anniversary gift to each other. Our 33rd anniversary is Friday, the 13th. And, yes, we got married on a Friday, too. No bad luck here.
When thinking of roads, I remember one that I love and hated years ago. It was a beautiful winding mountain road in all seasons, and I always wanted to drive it at a slower pace, maybe even the 35 MPH speed limit; drivers behind me hated that leisurely drive I insisted on doing. Lights flashed, horns honked, and tempers flared as other drivers insisted I speed up. When available I pulled into a pull-out created for just this reason, but they were few and far between.
I lived at the end of the winding road for five years. It was bordered with tall pins and oaks, large boulders, and sheltered by an immense blue sky. Quaint village, ski resorts so active in winter, and a few scattered businesses appeared on the drive. It was beautiful in all seasons, a place that whetted the muse and made a writer's figures long for pen or computer to capture the varied thoughts.
In summer it was cool, in autumn the leaves on oaks changed colors, in winter it was a fairy tale world of white. In most seasons, it was a sweet-smelling, fresh-air, sort of drive. But any season of the year, you'll have those fast boogers on your tail attempting to hurry you past it all.
When thinking of roads, I remember one that I love and hated years ago. It was a beautiful winding mountain road in all seasons, and I always wanted to drive it at a slower pace, maybe even the 35 MPH speed limit; drivers behind me hated that leisurely drive I insisted on doing. Lights flashed, horns honked, and tempers flared as other drivers insisted I speed up. When available I pulled into a pull-out created for just this reason, but they were few and far between.
I lived at the end of the winding road for five years. It was bordered with tall pins and oaks, large boulders, and sheltered by an immense blue sky. Quaint village, ski resorts so active in winter, and a few scattered businesses appeared on the drive. It was beautiful in all seasons, a place that whetted the muse and made a writer's figures long for pen or computer to capture the varied thoughts.
In summer it was cool, in autumn the leaves on oaks changed colors, in winter it was a fairy tale world of white. In most seasons, it was a sweet-smelling, fresh-air, sort of drive. But any season of the year, you'll have those fast boogers on your tail attempting to hurry you past it all.
posted by Barb | 9:40 PM
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