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I sit in my car in the morning,
In front of my house, coffee cup in hand,
I sit in silence, looking straight ahead...
At the end of my street,
Where, there is a freeway overpass.
I cannot hear the traffic, here in my car.
But I can watch the cars pulsing,
Back and forth the images race.
North bound and southern bound -
Sometimes they whiz by,
Sometimes they slowly crawl.
This is at the edge of my street,
At the edge of our neighborhood
And the very edge of our city,
Before you encounter the sea.
And I wonder where they are going,
And where they have been,
And I remember when I was young,
I think of me, going everywhere, running free.
Then I put my car in gear, and slowly pull away.
On my way, on schedule, and in my groove.
And I look one more time, at the freeway overpass,
Before I proceed on my way down my own street.
And I offer a prayer for my fellow travelers,
Travel easy, travel free, and God's speed!
Deborah Coss of 1kinthing.com, writes about the things she knows, and sometimes takes flights into fantasy. A published writer, photographer and artist, considers herself a Jill Of All Trades, with a background in law, medicine and many menial labor type jobs. Language is fun. Communication is an art.
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