Back Roads Byron Hoot I wish the past was like the cars and trucks I see in my rearview calculating speed and distance to catch up. I look ahead, look up, they’re gone. Who has not wished for some things to be utterly redeemed beyond the lessons learned? Usually it’s on two-lane roads where passing is marked by broken lines, where double lines say, “Do Not Cross,” and speed is dictated by road surface, curves, hills, other traffic these feelings and thoughts appear. I am coming and going – the one thing about being on the road that doesn’t change: some place is left, some place awaiting my arrival. It matters how I drive. It matters what I learn. It matters that the past can’t be redeemed – just so curious I keep wishing it could be.