Ride, Interrupted

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. 
~ Martin Buber 

I'm on the road about eight hours a week. Not forever. It's a phase that's time-bound, transitional. Homing while in motion, I usually ease into the right lane, letting the wind sound and horizon view lull me into flow — mostly. 

But over on the shoulder of the road, I'm struck by this scene again and again. Banged up cars, passengers standing outside on cell phones, and smiling, warmly. At each other! Why? 

Of course, relief — spared. Suddenly, that pressing appointment isn't so important anymore. Temporary freedom, like a snow day!

Perhaps it's also a welcome jolt? An unexpected runoff into sacred time out of the flood of faceless cars and ceaseless, senseless rushing — to behold another. 

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