5:55 a.m. T.G.I.F.
I flip open the Dark Sky app. 24° F. “Feels like 20°. Light snow falling. Two inches accumulated.”
I flick the page to my other saved locations.
Antigua. 74° F.
Mind drifts. Soft white sand between toes. Gentle waves lap the shore line. Warm breeze sways the fronds on the palm trees, they slap against the trunk. Antigua. Sweep me away to There, Now.
March 1. I’ve had enough of Winter. And need more of Rehman Rahi:
“The melting of snow, a soft breeze, a garden in blossom
Be my witness,
O Spring,
dumbstruck, yet we sing.”
I crawl down I-95. Red tail lights as far as the eye can see. Highway is heavily salted, frozen slush, ruts, shoulder unplowed. Slippery when wet. Treacherous at this moment. Focus DK, focus.
Sirius playing. 70’s on 7. Neil Diamond, Forever in Blue Jeans. Money talks. But it don’t sing and dance And it don’t walk And long as I can have you here with me. I’d much rather be Forever in blue jeans. Money talks. But it don’t sing and dance… I’m lip syncing. Head bobbing in rhythm. Continue reading “Driving I-95 S. But it don’t sing and dance.”
