Northbound Commute

There's a place not too far from here where the buzzards turn on updrafts coming off the hills. They circle and climb and get smaller and smaller in the sky. Beneath them, the oak and cedar hills and limestone cliffs must be a sight to see ... and the morning inbound traffic lined up bumper-to-bumper.

There we sit every morning, lined up bumper to bumper with all the vehicle-imprisoned others crawling to work. There we sit, constrained in northbound lanes, shifting up and shifting down, clutching in and clutching out, listening to the news for the umpteenth time.

And there are those buzzards, turning circles in the sky with a view of all creation before them. There they are looking down at us wondering why on earth we would do this every day.

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