Perfectly Painted Drive

The drive had been more beautiful than the other thousand times he had driven it. The air had been cooling down and fall had phoned and was on it's way. The trees were still green, all but a few. The road's wind and swell was more moving than it have ever been. Or that he'd ever noticed at least. The windows weren't down, but begged to be. The music soft and more than majestic. Perhaps Copland or Bach but no real distinction. More like looking at a page of too small print, the letters, the words not jumping out or off the page, but appearing as an imperfect blob of black.

Reality had escaped to surrealism and he was happily lost in it. The sun setting on the horizon, finding a perfect spot to cozy down between the trees. Using the mirror of the lake to display it's beautiful sleeping tradition. Settling in around it all the colors of the suns best friends. The artist and his clouds. His pallet must have been full of every color, not sparing a single ounce of effort or beauty for another sunset. Some clouds manicured to perfection by the greatest cake designers. Others to imperfection by the clumsy touch of amateurs.

He continued to stream down the road, all worries a minute behind. The metal guard rails had turned to wooden ones, and then finally disappeared. That uplifting feeling kept hitting him bluntly and with the same relief and tranquility of the woods. The sun chose it's moments and continued to wink through the trees. He could see the fog rolling in on the bridge over the lake ahead. It's entrance guarded by tall trees, reaching their arms wide and far to obscure the entrance. The view came more quickly than anticipated, and was gone even quicker. The sun displayed itself in all of it's glory. He took a deep breath but couldn't regain all that had been taken from him. The relief of the fog, the swell of the music, the whole picture directly perfectly and with seamless transition.

Life's circle had just been full, but only for that second. The music died down, and went from one symphony to another. The bridge disappeared in the rear view mirror, and too closely paralleled life's cycle for the him. He focused on the shift of the car, the hum of the tires and the running road ahead and his role in catching it. He looked toward the next curve, the unknown, the possible. He desired it more, the idea of better. The geese accompanied him, a new wing man, shadowing the car now in the near absence of the suns rays, as it had finally retired it's playful game. He turned the knob and allowed the melody to envelop him. He pressed the gas a little harder and his hands followed suit, tight around the wheel. He was unsure of the reality of it all.  Was it all a dream? If it was, he did not want to believe it. The squeezing of his vision gripped tighter as he gazed forward, the future, the excitement of the endless pursuit of the road in front. He looked again for the sun. It had vanished. It's cat and mouse game with him was finally over.

The speed increased. His breath steadied. Focused on the perfection in the imperfect world, the driver behind the wheel smiled.