empty gray pavement

It’s 9:30.  My car and another

in the parking lot.  Someone 

with a cell phone on, that light

not reaching that face.  One, two

cars on the street.  The stop lights

and their dogged rhythm and my 

obedience to them when the sign

No Turn On Red means nothing.

I wait for the green light.  The near

empty road out of town, 

the lights receding in the rearview

mirrors and one Amish

buggy going my way I slow down 

to pass.  Then turn off onto an unmarked

road with fields of corn and soy beans 

and woods at the edge of the road 

watching for deer and bear.

My lights strike one of those yellow

signs with the symbol of a curve 

and the bright reflection blinding me

for a second or two as I hold the steering wheel,

feel the tires on the road, remember where

I am until the blindness passes.

I am struck by that moment of faith I 

had to take.  Disconcerted trying to 

recall how many times I’ve had

to hold on not seeing where I was 

going yet not driving off the road,

the one in front of me,

the one inside me, the one taking me home.

hootism:   Words last a long time, beyond a lifetime.  It would be good if we learned how to value them better.

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