It was a straight run
Down valley
And at 100 miles an hour
The landscape became a gun barrel
I rifled through
Down valley
And at 100 miles an hour
The landscape became a gun barrel
I rifled through
The road was freshly paved
Though heavily pebbled
So the car hummed
As it shimmied in the heavy winds
Here was I
A projectile crossing open country
Which to my being is as good
As being wrapped in a blanket
By a fire on a snowy winter’s eve
Road trips are comfort food for my soul
Pix to Words 