I like to turn the radio off
Let the silence fall upon the car
Let the experience of driving
Transcend the noise
Otherwise in the background
I hear pavement’s texture
Know the coarse and the smooth
From the form of a wave in my ear
I feel it
Transferred from tires
To frame
To chassis
To the wheel beneath my hands
The pedal and floor beneath my feet
The seat enveloping my body
I hear the rumble
Of suspension
Sucking up the bumps in the road
There’s the air
Parting around the shell
The howl of friction, of drag
I am as a passenger
In a bullet made
Of glass and steel and plastic
Rifling down the centre lane
Driving
A sense of flight
I change lanes
Feel the front wheels grip asphalt
Through the palms on the wheel
Imagining dipping wings
I leave the highway
The sharp half corkscrew of an offramp
Feel the centrifuge at work
As my body shifts in the seat
A jog to the left
A dip
Sail through the changing light
Then up the hill to the next
Driving
A sense of dance
The flow of arc and line
A choreographed movement
Driving
A sense of connection
To the landscape
Enveloping me like a tunnel
Like a blanket
A comfort in being
A warmth of recognition
I sing the world
Into experience
So simply
With careful attention
To my presence
In a small
Four-wheeled box
Moving through
Space and time
Wood Lake & Kalamalka Lake
From Oyama Lake Road
Lake Country
British Columbia, Canada