My Turn

There are tire tracks in the in the median -- a sign of the arctic weather a few days ago. The ruts in the grass are deep and muddy on the far sides of the bridges, suggesting what the crossings must have looked like as the snow fell and the ice froze.

But today it is in the seventies. The sun is hot coming thru the windows as we drive home, and we have the vent blowing on our faces to keep us cool. The muddy ruts and broken pine boughs along the edge of the highway seem out of place -- how could it have been that bad if it's so nice now?

Trailer trucks. Cement trucks. Vans with tied-down loads on top. Pickup trucks pulling trailer-loads. Cars racing east. Cars racing west. A Texas flag flaps in the breeze outside a rest area by the side of the road.

In the eastbound lanes, an olive green LTD just drove by. Slotted louvers covering the headlights. A flawless paint job masking its age from bumper to shiny bumper. And a German shepherd sitting in the back seat, mouth open, tongue hanging out, watching the world go by.

Time to get back on the road. It's my turn to drive.

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